THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 

MR*  &  MRS.   FRANK  M.  BEARING 

I  • '"  , 


A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY 


A  TALE  OF  CALLITSO  COUNTY 


BY 
CHARLES   J.    SCOKIELD 

One  of  the  Circuit  Judges  of  Illinois 


It  is  good  neither  to  eat  flesh,  nor  to  drink  wine,  nor  anything  whereby  thy 
brother  stumbleth,  or  is  offended,  or  is  made  weak.  (  Rom.  xiv.  21.) 

Wherefore,  if  meat  [wine]  make  my  brother  to  offend,  I  will  eat  no  flesh  [drink 
no  wine]  while  the  world  standeth,  lest  I  make  my  brother  to  offend.  (  I.  Cor. 
viii.  13.) 


FIRST    THOUSAND 


PUBLISHED    BY   THE   AUTHOR 
J891 


Copyrighted,  1891,  by 
CHARLES  J.  SCOFIELD. 


POINTED  AND  BOUND  BY 
SHB  STANDARD  F?;JBMGHI:JG 
CINCINNATI,  OHIO. 


TO  THE    FAITHFUL  WIFE, 

WHO    HAS    SHARED    MY   LABORS, 

AND    LIGHTENED    MY   BURDENS, 

AND  WALKED  SIDE  BY  SIDE  WITH   ME  TOWARD  THE  LIGHT, 

FOR    MANY   YEARS, 

THIS   VOLUME    IS    LOVINGLY    INSCRIBED 
BY  THE   AUTHOR. 


PS 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 
THE  ANDERSON  FAMILY 9-22 

CHAPTER   II. 
THE  MAINE  PROHIBITIONIST 23-38 

CHAPTER   III. 

UNDER  ARREST 39~54 

CHAPTER    IV. 
A  STRANGE  INTRODUCTION 55~66 

CHAPTER   V. 
CANDIDATES  FOR  OFFICE 67-87 

CHAPTER    VI. 
CONTRASTS  IN  ELECTIONEERING 88-108 

CHAPTER   VII. 
AT  MOSSY  BANK 109-130 

CHAPTER   VIII. 
SQUIRE  INGLESIDE  MILITANT 131-141 

CHAPTER   IX. 

A  LIBATION  TO  BACCHUS , 142-148 

s 


754911 


6  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   X. 
EAVESDROPPING,  AND  SOME  OF  ITS  FRUIT 149-170 

CHAPTER    XI. 
LOVE'S  THORNY  PATHWAY 171-181 

CHAPTER   XII. 
THE  FIRST  MISUNDERSTANDING 182-194 

CHAPTER   XIII. 

HOLYTERROR i 195-214 

CHAPTER    XIV. 
THE  PICNIC  AT  BARKER'S  GROVE 215-236 

CHAPTER   XV. 
ELIZABETH  AS  MEDIATOR 237-245 

CHAPTER   XVI. 
NEARING  THE  SHADOW 246-256 

CHAPTER   XVII. 
DISAPPOINTMENT 257-280 

CHAPTER   XVIII. 
CRUEL  BLOWS 281-292 

CHAPTER   XIX. 
AT  THE  GATES  OF  DEATH 293-301 

CHAPTER   XX. 
BUT  NOT  BEYOND 302-310 


CONTENTS.  7 

CHAPTER   XXI. 
THE  DEVIL  CAST  OUT .» 311-322 

CHAPTER   XXII. 
A  PRIMARY  CONVENTION 323-334 

CHAPTER   XXIII. 
A  VICTORY  FOR  THE  SALOON  POWER 335-346 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
THE  STORY  OF  A  BROKEN  BOTTLE 347-366 

CHAPTER   XXV. 
JUSTICE  TRIUMPHANT ~ 367-383 

CHAPTER    XXVI. 
DELIBERATION 384-395 

CHAPTER    XXVII. 
THE  CROWNING  CONSPIRACY 396-414 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

KATIE'S  GREAT  SACRIFICE 415-432 

CHAPTER    XXIX. 
A  MYSTERIOUS  DISAPPEARANCE 433-443 

CHAPTER   XXX. 
THE  TRAGEDY  AT  THE  SWAMP 444-460 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 
THE  FIRST  GRAVE 461-468 


8  CONTENT^. 

CHAPTER   XXXII. 
LIMPING  JUSTICE .  469-487 

CHAPTER   XXXIII. 
THE  FIRST  WEDDING 488-504 

CHAPTER    XXXIV. 
KATIE  AT  CHAUTAUQUA 505-522 

CHAPTER    XXXV. 
AT  MOSSY  BANK  AGAIN 523~537 

CHAPTER    XXXVI. 
CONQUERING  A  MOB 538-554 

CHAPTER   XXXVII. 
ONE  SIDE  OF  THE  CASE 555-586 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 
THE  OTHER  SIDE  OF  THE  CASE 587-615 

CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

A  DYING  SINNER'S  SERMON  _. 616-623 

CHAPTER    XL. 
ASSORTED  ACCORDING  TO  AFFINITY 624-640 


A  SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    ANDERSON    FAMILY. 

About  ten  miles  southwest  of  Wellington,  in  the 
fertile  County  of  Callitso,  in  the  prosperous  State  of 
Illinois,  lived  Henry  Anderson  and  his  wife  Mary,  with 
their  children  James  and  Katie,  aged  respectively  nine 
teen  and  sixteen,  in  this  blooming  springtime  of  the 
year  of  grace,  1875.  Mr.  Anderson  was  a  wealthy 
farmer,  an  influential  and  intelligent  man,  and  a  highly 
respected  and  law-abiding  citizen.  He  was  one  of  the 
directors  of  school-district  No.  3  ;  and  so,  when  Mr. 
Brayton,  the  teacher,  was  forced  to  resign  by  the 
mutinous  conduct  of  some  of  the  overgrown  pupils, 
Mr.  Anderson  was  made  agent  extraordinary  to  go  to 
Wellington  and  employ  a  teacher  to  take  the  place  of 
the  vanquished  Brayton. 

Accordingly,  he  repaired  to  the  city,  and  consulted 
Colonel  Mansfield,  for  whose  judgment,  generally 
speaking,  he  had  the  highest  regard.  Had  it  not  been 
at  the  Colonel's  advice  that  he  had  bought  prairie  land 
when  he  had  moved  to  Callitso  County?  And  had  not 
time  borne  ample  testimony  to  the  correctness  of  the 
Colonel's  judgment?  Had  not  the  Colonel  prophe 
sied,  after  Fort  Sumter  had  been  fired  upon,  that 
there  would  be  war?  And  had  not  war  followed,  that 
the  Colonel's  prophecy  might  be  fulfilled  ?  If  he  had 


IO  '  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

shown  such  remarkable  judgment  in  business  and  mili 
tary  matters,  might  he  not  prove  infallible  in  educa 
tional  affairs  ? 

"I  believe  I  would  try  a  woman  this  time. "  sug 
gested  the  Colonel. 

"A  woman!"  exclaimed  Henry  Anderson  in 
amazement,  letting  his  lower  jaw  fall,  and  staring  at 
his  friend.  He  then  gasped,  and  exclaimed  again  :  "  A 
woman  !" 

"  Why  certainly, "  said  the  Colonel,  "I  mean  just 
what  I  say — try  a  woman.  Muscle  seems  to  have 
proved  a  failure  in  your  school — a  miserable  failure. 
And  what  more  can  be  expected  ?  This  world  is  no 
longer  ruled  by  brute  force,  and  schools  can  no  longer 
be  governed  successfully  in  that  way.  Try  refinement 
and  tact  for  once.  Women  have  more  of  either  of 
these  qualities  than  men.  Most  of  our  teachers  in 
Wellington  are  women,  and  they  are  successful. 
Therefore  I  say  again,  try  a  woman." 

But  Mr.  Anderson  said : 

"No  woman  can  manage  our  school,  Colonel.  The 
day  of  miracles  is  past.  We  must  have  a  brave  and 
experienced  man,  say  forty  or  fifty  years  of  age.  We 
want  a  man  who  can  inspire  terror  in  the  hearts  of  the 
disobedient  from  the  very  start.  And  such  a  teacher 
we  must  have,  or  the  school  must  be  closed." 

"But  I  insist  that  you  want  a  woman,"  said  the 
Colonel,  smoothing  and  folding  his  daily.  "And  for 
tunately  for  you,  the  right  woman  is  in  Wellington, 
waiting  for  a  school.  She  is  a  new-comer,  and  has 
never  taught  in  this  vicinity.  But  she  is  a  highly 
accomplished  Eastern  lady,  about  thirty  years  of  age, 
and  of  that  temper,  if  I  am  not  sadly  mistaken,  to  suit 
your  present  emergencies,  and  bring  order  out  of 
chaos  in  your  school." 

But  Henry  Anderson  was  not  to  be  convinced  by  a 
few  words.  Women  might  do  well  enough  in  towns  or 
for  infants,  but  not  for  young  men  in  a  country  school. 
He  declined  at  first  to  see  or  talk  with  the  young 


THE    ANDERSON    FAMILY.  I  I 

woman  on  the  subject.  But  after  much  solicitation  he 
yielded  reluctantly,  and  accompanied  by  the  Colonel, 
went  to  see  her.  He  looked  aghast  when  he  beheld  a 
woman  of  medium  size,  with  delicate  features,  and  a 
bearing  of  the  highest  culture  and  refinement.  And 
this  was  Elizabeth  Oakford.  If  she  had  stood  six  feet 
without  shoes,  and  had  weighed  one  hundred  and 
ninety  pounds — 

But  the  first  words  she  uttered,  in  her  s*bft,  positive, 
magnetic  tones,  interrupted  and  silenced  all  such  re 
flections.  After  ten  minutes  of  conversation,  Henry 
Anderson's  prejudice  began  to  give  way.  At  the  end 
of  thirty  minutes  he  capitulated,  and  employed  her 
without  qualification  or  reservation,  and  then,  after  he 
had  gone  away,  stroked  his  beard,  and  wondered  what 
had  induced  him  to  hire  "that  woman." 

Elizabeth  came,  and  took  charge  of  the  school.  She 
boarded  at  Mr.  Anderson's,  and  was  thus  brought  into 
close  contact  with  the  members  of  the  family.  If  there 
was  any  trouble  at  the  school-house  during  the  remain 
der  of  the  term,  it  was  never  reported  to  Mr.  Ander 
son.  There  was  no  conflict,  there  was  no  organized 
disobedience,  there  was  no  application  of  the  rod.  It 
seemed  to  be  taken  for  granted  that  Elizabeth  must  be 
obeyed,  and  no  effort  at  insubordination  was  made. 

The  Andersons  were  not  slow  in  learning  that  Eliz 
abeth  was  a  Maine  prohibitionist  of  the  most  pro 
nounced  and  radical  type.  In  her  childhood  she  had 
been  taught  to  look  upon  the  traffic  in  intoxicating 
drinks  as  one  of  the  greatest  curses  of  the  century. 
Her  knowledge  of  the  world,  and  of  the  effects  of  the 
rum-traffic  upon  the  individual  and  the  state,  acquired 
since  she  had  grown  to  womanhood,  had  served  to 
intensify  her  abhorrence  of  the  business,  and  to  make 
her  intolerant  when  this  subject  was  under  considera 
tion. 

But  with  Henry  Anderson  it  was  otherwise. 
While  he  had  been  a  sober,  steady,  industrious  man, 
a  useful  and  prominent  man  in  his  community,  he  had 


12  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

taken  but  little  interest  in  the  agitation  of  the  temper 
ance  question.  He  had  never  been  known  to  be  intox 
icated,  and  thought  that  any  man  could  resist  the 
fascinations  of  the  cup  if  he  would,  and  had  no  sym 
pathy  for  the  character  generally  denominated  the 
"poor,  helpless  drunkard."  His  family  firmly  believed 
that  he  never  touched  the  intoxicating  cup.  And  yet 
it  was  a  fact  well  known  in  Wellington  that  he  had 
been  in  the  *habit,  for  years,  of  taking  an  occasional 
drink  with  a  friend,  and  it  was  even  rumored  that  for 
the  last  year  or  two  his  visits  to  Wellington,  and 
consequently  his  visits  to  his  favorite  drug-store,  had 
gradually  become  more  frequent.  Yes,  it  was  whis 
pered  in  certain  quarters  that  the  habit  was  growing 
upon  him  ;  and  that  if  his  propensities  in  this  direction 
were  not  speedily  checked  he,  with  his  ardent  temper 
ament,  was  in  danger  of  becoming  a  victim  to  this 
terrible  appetite. 

But  no  hint  of  these  facts  and  rumors  had  reached 
the  ears  of  his  wife,  son  or  daughter.  It  was  indeed 
remarked  by  them  that  he  seemed  to  favor  the  licensing 
of  saloons,  but  this,  they  supposed,  was  not  because 
he  was  addicted  to  the  use  of  liquor  himself,  but  rath- 
'  er,  as  he  himself  said,  because  he  believed  that  the 
evil  could  not  be  suppressed,  and  that  therefore  the 
best  thing  to  be  done  was  to  control  it  by  law,  and  at 
the  same  time  thereby  raise  a  revenue  for  the  munici 
pal  government.  He  readily  conceded,  in  every  argu 
ment,  that  liquor  had  proved  a  great  curse,  that  it  had 
slain  its  thousands,  and  that  its  evil  effects  should  be 
counteracted  in  some  manner.  But  he  maintained  that 
this,  could  not  be*done  by  the  attempted  suppression 
of  the  business,  but  rather  by  its  regulation  under  judi 
cious  laws. 

Entertaining  these  views,  it  was  natural  enough  for 
him  to  have  an  occasional  altercation  with  Elizabeth 
Oakford  on  this  question,  in  which  he  opposed  her 
tenets  as  unreasonable  and  impracticable. 

"  I  have  lived  in  Kentucky,"  he  said  on  one  occa- 


THE    ANDERSON    FAMILY.  13 

sion,  "and  I  have  seen  some  of  the  best  men  in  the 
world  take  their  daily  dram,  without  any  harm.  And 
I  am  sure  that  there  was  less  drunkenness  there  than 
there  is  here.  Wellington  has  been  without  license  for 
four  years,  and  I  have  seen  more  drunken  men  there 
during  that  time  than  I  saw  in  Kentucky  during  the 
whole  of  my  boyhood." 

"I  do  not  deny,"  said  Elizabeth,  "that  some  of 
the  best  men  in  the  world  take  their  daily  dram,  both 
here  and  in  Kentucky.  But  I  challenge  you  to  prove 
that  they  do  so  without  harm.  And  if  you  answer 
that  you  mean  without  apparent  harm,  I  ask  you  to 
tell  me  how  many  men  you  have  known  in  Kentucky 
and  Wellington  who  have  taken  their  daily  dram  with 
apparent  harm.  The  traffic  is  not  condemned  because 
it  may  have  done  a  great  many  no  apparent  harm,  but 
because  to  many  it  has  done  grievous,  manifest  and 
irreparable  harm.  Nor  am  I  prepared  to  accept  the 
statement  that  you  have  seen  more  drunken  men  in 
Wellington  during  the  last  four  years  than  you  saw  in 
Kentucky  during  your  boyhood.  I  admit  you  think 
so.  But  you  forget  what  you  saw  in  your  youth.  I  un 
derstand  your  argument  to  involve  the  absurd  conclu 
sion  that  by  increasing  the  saloons  drunkenness  will 
be  decreased." 

"Not  exactly,"  was  the  answer.  "But  what  I 
mean  is  that  men  will  have  their  drinks  any  way  ;  and  if 
difficulties  are  thrown  in  the  way,  they  will  be  stimulated 
to  extra  efforts  to  procure  what  they  want,  and  thus 
really  drink  more  without  saloons  than  with  them." 

"If  that  is  true,  Mr.  Anderson,  will  you  tell  me 
why  the  wholesale  liquor  dealers  are  in  favor  of 
saloons?  If  more  liquor  is  sold  and  consumed  without 
than  with  saloons,  the  wholesale  dealer  would  surely 
make  more  in  the  former  case  than  in  the  latter.  Yet 
they  are  to  a  man  opposed  to  all  prohibitory  legisla 
tion.  How  do  you  explain  this  strange  contradiction  ? 
Are  the  wholesale  dealers  working  against  their  own 
interests  ?  Or,  are  they  fools  ? 


14  A     SUBTLE     ADVERSARY. 

Mr.  Anderson  made  no  reply  to  these  questions, 
but  vigorously  rocked  to  and  fro  in  his  chair. 

"The  fact  is,"  continued  Elizabeth,  "that  you  are 
mistaken.  There  is  not  more  liquor  used  in  anti-license 
towns  than  in  license  towns.  The  proposition  is  ab 
surd  upon  its  face.  Many  a  man  who  would  frequent 
saloons,  and  spend  his  time  there,  is  generally  sober 
and  industrious  if  there  are  no  open  saloons.  He  may 
send  away  for  a  jug  of  whisky  or  a  keg  of  beer  occa 
sionally,  but  this  is  infinitely  better  for  himself  and 
family  than  to  have  him  '  lounging  '  about  a  saloon 
every  day.  And,  by  the  way,  Mr.  Anderson,  tell  me 
one  man  in  Wellington  who  has  been  drunk  oftener 
per  year  during  the  last  four  years,  under  the  anti- 
license  regime,  than  he  was  during  those  years  when 
there  were  saloons  in  the  city." 

Mr.  Anderson  said  that,  having  been  in  Wellington 
only  occasionally,  he  was  not  able  to  speak  author 
itatively  on  the  subject,  but  that  he  had  heard  Joe  Jim- 
son  say  the  cases  of  drunkenness  were  more  numerous 
now  than  formerly. 

"And  who  is  Joe  Jimson?"  asked  Elizabeth,  flush 
ing.  "Is  he  not  a  drunken  sot ?  What  kind  of 
authority  is  he  to  be  quoted  on  this  question  ?  I  will 
offset  his  statement  with  what  I  heard  Colonel  Mansfield 
say  the  other  day.  He  said  the  records  of  the  courts 
did  not  show  one-third  as  many  prosecutions  for  drunk 
enness  during  the  last  four  years  as  during  the  preced 
ing  four  years.  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  " 

"  I  think  that,  if  the  Colonel  is  right,  there  has  been 
a  lax  enforcement  of  the  ordinances  during  the  last 
four  years." 

"Not  so,  if  the  Colonel  is  to  be  believed,"  she 
answered.  "  He  said  the  ordinances  had  been  more 
vigorously  enforced  than  ever  before." 

"There,  father,"  said  Katie,  who  had  been  stand 
ing  behind  his  chair  during  the  conversation,  "I 
think  Miss  Oakford  has  the  better  of  the  argument. 
At  least  she  has  converted  me  now,  if  never  before, 


THE    ANDERSON  FAMILY.  15 

and  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  join  the  temperance 
workers,  and  work  with  her,  as  the  preacher  says, 
henceforth  and  evermore." 

Mr.  Anderson  could  not  readily  brook  direct  and 
positive  antagonism  to  his  views,  and  it  was  certain 
that  Elizabeth  had  combated  them  in  positive  and  un 
equivocal  terms.  But  he  was  too  much  of  a  gentle 
man  to  be  guilty  of  offensive  speech  to  a  woman  ;  and 
for  fear  that  he  might  be  led  to  speak  with  temper,  and 
perhaps  be  utterly  routed  in  the  controversy,  he  dropped 
the  conversation  and  went  into  the  kitchen,  where  his 
wife  was  engaged  in  preparing  the  evening  meal.  As 
for  Elizabeth,  she  had  always  been  in  the  habit  of  speak 
ing  plainly  and  emphatically  on  this  question.  She  in 
tended  this  conversation  to  be  but  the  introduction  to 
a  whole  volume  with  which  Henry  Anderson  was  to  be 
entertained  from  time  to  time.  She  had  heard  the 
rumors  concerning  his  growing  fondness  for  the  cup, 
and  she  had  at  once  assumed  the  unpleasant  duty  of 
remonstrating  with  him,  and  by  every  means  in  her 
power  warning  him  against  the  danger  of  his  course. 

And  this  was  no  pleasant  task — not  even  for  Eliza 
beth.  Her  gentle  disposition  shrank  from  conflict  with 
her  friends.  Only  an  exalted  sense  of  duty  could  sus 
tain  her  in  her  efforts  to  reach  and  save  a  man  so  self- 
willed  and  independent  in  spirit  as  was  Henry  Anderson. 
She  thought  he  would  rebel  against  her  advice,  and  re 
gard  her  as  an  intermeddler  with  affairs  that  did  not 
concern  her.  But  she  was  prepared  to  bear  all  this, 
and  more,  if  she  might  be  able,  with  the  Divine  help, 
to  arrest  this  man  in  his  downward  course,  and  bring 
him  out  of  danger  into  safety. 

Standing  in  the  way  of  the  future  happiness  of  this 
family,  Elizabeth  saw,  or  fancied  she  saw,  a  danger  of 
which  they  were  utterly  unconscious.  For  a  few  years 
Mr.  Anderson  had  been  an  occasional  drinker,  and 
Elizabeth  considered  that  fact,  of  itself,  occasion  for 
alarm.  So  sensitive  had  she  become  to  the  dangers  and 
allurements  of  the  cup,  that  she  trembled  for  the  future 


1 6  A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

of  the  man  who  had  the  hardihood  to  drink  even  a 
single  glass.  But  there  was  another  fact  in  Henry 
Anderson's  case  which  Elizabeth  considered  still  more 
significant  of  danger.  Rumor  said  that  the  habit  of 
occasional  drinking  had  been  growing,  and  that  Henry 
Anderson  now  seldom  drove  to  Wellington  without 
patronizing  the  drug-store. 

A  -conversation  which  occurred  a  few  days  after 
wards  served  still  further  to  alarm  Elizabeth.  Mr. 
Anderson  announced  that  he  was  getting  to  that  period 
of  life  when  rest  was  demanded,  and  that  he  had  been 
thinking  seriously  about  moving  to  Wellington,  and 
selling  or  renting  the  farm,  as  might  appear  to  be  most 
to  his  advantage.  He  alleged  that  while  one  object 
would  be  to  afford  himself  and  wife  an  opportunity  to 
rest  from  the  labors  and  responsibilities  of  the  farm, 
the  principal  object  was  to  give  his  children  an  oppor 
tunity  to  attend  college,  and  thoroughly  equip  them 
selves  for  life.  And  true  it  is  that,  at  their  age,  and 
with  their  advancement,  better  schools  than  the  country 
afforded  were  required  to  carry  on  their  education.  It 
was  also  true  that  there  was  a  good  Western  college  at 
Wellington,  where  James  and  Katie  could  have  every 
advantage  in  the  way  of  learning  which  could  be  rea 
sonably  desired.  Should  Mr.  Anderson  move  to  the 
city,  there  would  not  be  any  separation  of  the  members 
of  his  household.  His  children  could  be  at  home,  and 
under  his  immediate  supervision,  and  at  the  same  time 
attend  the  Wellington  College.  There  was  little  to  be 
said  against  the  proposal,  and  much  to  be  said  in  its 
favor.  And  because  this  was  true,  and  because  Eliza 
beth  was  interested  in  the  family's  welfare,  her  heart 
grew  heavy  indeed  when  she  heard  Mr.  Anderson  say 
he  had  been  thinking  of  moving  to  Wellington.  How 
was  it  any  of  her  business  whether  he  lived  on  the  farm 
or  in  the  city  ?  Would  it  not  be  deemed  impertinence 
on  her  part  to  interfere,  or  to  make  any  suggestions, 
concerning  the  proposed  change  ?  Especially  was  this 
the  case  when  her  opinion  was  not  sought  for. 


THE    ANDERSON    FAMILY.  I/ 

During  this  conversation,  Mrs.  Anderson  had  not, 
thus  far,  uttered  a  word,  but  there  was  no  evidence  of 
rejoicing  in  her  face,  but  sadness  rather,  as  if  she 
thought  it  doubtful  whether  such  a  radical  change 
would  contribute  to  the  happiness  of  the  family. 

"  We  have  been  very  happy  here,"  she  said  at  last. 
' '  I  fear  to  break  the  charm  of  happiness  which  seems 
to  have  hung  about  us  on  the  farm.  Much  as  I  would 
dislike  to  be  separated  from  the  children,  I  believe  I 
would  rather  stay  here  and  send  them  away  to  school 
than  to  leave  the  farm  in  order  to  be  with  them.  We 
will  have  to  give  them  up  soon  any  way.  They  will 
probably  marry,  and  have  homes  of  their  own,  and 
leave  us  alone  as  we  were  at  the  beginning.  And  you 
know,  Henry,  during  our  first  year  in  Illinois,  there 
were  but  two  of  us,  and  we  were  very  happy." 

The  conversation  flagged  in  interest  after  awhile, 
and  James  and  Katie  left  the  room.  Then  Elizabeth 
broke  the  silence : 

"Have  you  thought,  Mr.  Anderson,  of  the  tempta 
tions  of  city  life  to  James  ?  There  may  be  saloons  in 
Wellington  next  year,  and  even  if  there  should  not  be, 
you  yourself  have  said  that  liquors  are  very  easily  ob 
tained  even  without  saloons.  These  and  many  'other 
temptations  might  beset  him.  Is  it  not  safer  to  keep 
him  on  the  farm  for  a  few  years  yet?  " 

Now  Elizabeth's  present  solicitude  was  for  Henry 
Anderson,  not  for  James.  But  she  did  not  say  so,  for 
many  reasons.  Mrs.  Anderson  did  not  know  that  her 
husband  was  becoming  a  steady  drinker ;  and  it  did  not 
seem  proper  to  communicate  to  her  that  intelligence 
now.  To  do  so  at  this  time  would  be  a  positive 
affront  to  Mr.  Anderson.  So  intent  was  she  upon 
finding  some  support  for  her  advice  that  she  failed  to 
notice  the  inconsistencies  of  her  speech  till  Mr.  Ander 
son  suggested  that  he  could  not  see  how  James  would 
be  in  more  danger  in  Wellington,  if  living  with  his 
parents  while  attending  college,  than  if  boarding  in  the 
city  with  strangers  during  the  school  year. 


1 8  A    SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

Elizabeth  reddened  perceptibly.  She  said  no  more 
on  the  subject ;  but  she  instantly  formed  a  firm  reso 
lution.  She  would  ask  leave  of  absence  from  her 
school  next  Tuesday,  and  spend  that  day  at  Welling 
ton.  The  request  was  made,  and  the  desired  leave  ob 
tained,  and  to  James  was  confided  the  pleasant  duty  of 
taking  her  to  Wellington  on  Monday  evening,  and 
going  after  her  on  Wednesday  morning.  The  object 
of  her  visit  to  the  city  was  not  stated,  and  no  inquiry 
on  the  subject  was  made. 

On  Tuesday  the  election  of  mayor  and  aldermen 
would  be  held  at  Wellington,  and  Elizabeth  had  de 
cided  to  be  present  and  to  use  her  influence  against 
license.  She  saw  plainly  enough  that  Mr.  Anderson 
would  move  to  Wellington  as  he  had  proposed,  and  she 
knew  his  danger  would  be  less  without  than  with  sa 
loons.  True,  he  could  obtain  liquors  as  he  had  done, 
through  the  various  devices  known  to  the  initiated,  but 
he  would  do  so  under  difficulties  if  there  were  no  sa 
loons. 

She  determined,  therefore,  to  throw  herself,  heart 
and  soul,  into  the  contest,  which  would  certainly  be 
a  bitter  one,  and  help  to  win  the  day  for  God  and 
home  and  native  land.  She  knew  the  contest  would 
be  close  because  the  license  ticket  had  been  defeated 
by  only  a  small  majority  the  year  before,  and  the 
license  advocates  had  been  making  great  preparations 
lor  the  coming  election,  and  confidently  expected  to 
carry  the  day.  Her  influence  might  be  worth  some 
thing  ;  and  whether  her  act  should  be  considered 
womanly  or  unwomanly,  her  heart  was  in  the  work,  and 
her  conscience  urged  her  on,  and  she  was  ready  to  sac 
rifice  herself  to  her  earnest  conviction  of  duty. 

Long  after  Elizabeth  and  Katie  and  James  had  re 
tired  for  sleep  to  their  respective  rooms,  the  husband 
and  wife  sat  on  the  porch  in  front  of  the  house,  silently 
meditating  upon  what  had  been  said. 

"  Henry,  I  can  not  make  up  my  mind  to  leave  our 
home,"  said  Mrs.  Anderson,  timidly,  as  she  moved  her 


THE    ANDERSON    FAMILY.  IQ 

chair  nearer  to  her  husband  and  took  his  hand  in  hers. 
"We  have  lived  here  now  for  twenty  years,  and  we 
are  too  far  along  in  life  to  set  out  to  make  for  ourselves 
another  home.  Why,  every  tree  is  dear  to  us,  and 
every  nook  and  corner  of  the  farm  has  its  own  precious 
bit  of  history,  which  none  but  you  and  I  could  write, 
and  the  thought  of  leaving  these  objects  we  have  loved 
and  cared  for  seems  unendurable.  Let  us  stay  here. 
We  can  spire  the  children  long  enough  for  them  to 
get  their  education." 

"But,  Mary,"  said. Mr.  Anderson,  "we  need  rest, 
and  as  long  as  we  stay  here  we  will  continue  to  work. 
So  I  think  the  best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  take  our 
leave  of  the  farm,  and  go  to  the  city  with  our  children. 
They  can  go  to  school  then,  and  we  can  be  at  hand  to 
watch  them  and  shield  them  from  harm.  We  have 
been  happy  here,  but  we  can  be  just  as  happy  in  the 
city,  and  enjoy  many  advantages  there  which  can  not 
be  had  here." 

"Of  course,  Henry, "said  Mrs.  Anderson  with  a 
sigh,  "you  must  decide  what  to  do,  and  I  must  yield 
to  your  judgment.  But  my  voice  and  vote,  as  far  as 
they  have  weight,  are  against  the  change.  I  have 
some  indefinable  prescience  of  evil — there  is  a  load 
over  my  heart  from  which  I  can  not  free  myself.  You 
know  I  am  not  superstitious,  and  yet  something  seems 
to  tell  me  that  this  move  will  be  the  beginning  of 
trouble." 

They  sat  for  a  long  time  in  silence.  At  length 
they  were  startled  by  a  loud  peal  of  thunder,  and  then 
noticed,  for  the  first  time,  that  the  sky  was  overcast 
with  clouds.  Suddenly  there  came  a  gust  of  wind,  and 
the  trees  were  shaken  violently.  Then  there  followed 
an  ominous  calm  ;  but  only  for  one  brief  minute.  The 
wind  began  again,  and  increased  steadily  in  violence, 
announcing,  with  dreadful  and  mournful  sounds,  the 
approach  of  a  violent  storm.  Mary  Anderson  drew 
still  closer  to  her  husband,  and,  in  a  faltering  voice, 
said : 


2O  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"O  Henry!  I  had  such  a  terrible  dream  last  night, 
—  a  dream  I  thought  I  would  never  tell  you.  But 
now  I  feel  impelled  to  speak.  I  thought  I  saw  a  com 
pany  of  soldiers  marching  along  a  street  in  some 
strange  city.  They  were  in  single  file,  and  each  had 
a  gun  on  his  right  shoulder.  They  marched  along 
very  solemnly  as  if  they  had  been  detailed  to  do  some 
terrible  deed,  and  not  a  word  was  spoken  by  any  one — 
not  even  a  word  of  command.  They  entered  a  large 
house  near  by  through  one  door  and  then  came  out  at 
another  door,  and  drew  up  in  a  line  in  front  of  the 
house,  and  presented  their  guns  and  took  aim  as  if  they 
were  going  to  fire." 

Here  a  sudden  clap  of  thunder,  louder  than  any 
that  had  been  heard  before,  interrupted  the  recital,  and 
Mrs.  Anderson,  who  was  not  at  all  nervous  or  excit 
able  under  ordinary  circumstances,  trembled  violently 
and  clung  to  her  husband's  hand.  By  the  glare  of  the 
lightning  Mr.  Anderson  had  seen  his  wife's  white, 
agonized  face,  and  now  he  put  his  arm  around  her  and 
drew  her  closer  to  his  side,  and  bade  her  not  to  be 
alarmed,  for  he  would  ever  love  her  and  protect  her 
from  all  harm.  But  it  was  not  the  lightning's  flash  or 
the  thunder's  roll  which  had  blanched  her  cheek — it 
was  the  terrible  dream  she  was  trying  to  relate,  and  for 
the  relation  of  which  nature  was  now  furnishing  so 
dreadful  an  accompaniment.  After  a  few  moments  of 
silence  she  recovered  her  self-possession  sufficiently  to 
go  on. 

"And  then,  O  Henry!  just  as  they  were  ready  to 
fire  I  saw,  for  the  first  time,  a  man  in  front  of  them 
sitting  on  a  coffin.  Such  agony  as  convulsed  his  face  I 
never  saw  before.  His  hands  were  clasped  together 
with  the  rigidity  of  death,  and  he  swayed  to  and  fro  in 
his  dreadful  despair.  Then  there  came  smoke  and  a 
crash,  and  he  fell  over  dead.  And  then  I  awoke.  O  my 
husband!"  she  exclaimed,  trembling  more  violently 
than  ever,  "  that  man  \va.syou!"  As  she  ceased  speak 
ing  she  buried  her  face  in  her  husband's  lap. 


THE   ANDERSON    FAMILY.  21 

Mr.  Anderson  tried  to  laugh  carelessly,  but  his 
laugh  was  forced  and  hollow.  To  be  represented  as 
the  central  character  of  such  a  tragedy  was  not  calcu 
lated  to  make  for  the  strongest  of  men  a  light  heart  on 
such  a  night  as  this.  But  he  smoothed  the  hair  back 
from  his  wife's  temples,  and  said  that  he  would  be  happy 
with  her  anywhere,  and  that  none  but  superstitious  old 
women  believed  in  dreams.  He  affected  indifference, 
and  remarked  that  he  was  in  no  danger  of  being  shot 
for  desertion,  not  being  a  military  man,  and  that  crimi 
nals  were  executed  in  this  country  with  a  rope,  and  not 
with  powder  and  lead. 

Mrs.  Anderson  was  not  superstitious.  And  yet — 
and  yet  she  knew  she  would  feel  better  could  she 
banish  the  recollection  of  that  dream.  This  much  she 
knew  —  she  and  her  husband  had  lived  together  in 
happiness  for  more  than  twenty  years.  Their  thoughts 
had  run  in  the  same  channel.  Their  lives  had  been  as 
one  life.  They  had  known  no  sorrow.  The  shadow 
of  the  death-angel  had  not  fallen  on  their  threshold. 
But  was  not  this  of  itself  occasion  for  alarm  ?  To  every 
man  and  woman  a  certain  portion  of  sorrow  is  allotted 
in  this  life,  and  oftentimes  the  longer  the  allotment  is 
deferred,  the  more  fatally  and  surely  does  it  come  at 
last.  Sometimes  after  years  of  sunshine  the  heavens 
darken  never  to  brighten  again.  Thus,  she  thought, 
her  freedom  from  sorrow  during  ail  her  wedded  life, 
instead  of  being  an  omen  of  continued  happiness, 
might  be  significant  of  the  near  approach  of  some 
dreadful  evil.  Still  she  did  not  believe  in  the  super 
natural  in  dreams.  She  tried  to  calm  her  fears  with  the 
assurance  that  revelations  of  future  good  or  ill  were  no 
longer  made  in  that  way.  But  now  she  kept  asking 
herself,  ' '  Would  it  not  be  better  to  remain  at  the 
old  home?  Was  there  not  danger  in  breaking  up  the 
old  life  and  making  so  radical  a  change?  "  But  surely 
her  husband  would  never  be  shot  by  soldiers,  as  she 
had  dreamed  he  was.  Might  her  dream  mean  some 
evil  to  James  or  to  Katie  ? 


22  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

In  less  than  an  hour  afterwards  the  storm  had 
passed  away,  and  the  stars  were  looking  solemnly  at 
Henry  Anderson's  residence,  where  that  gentleman 
and  his  children  were  sleeping  in  peace.  But  Mary 
Anderson's  heart  was  heavy.  She  heard  the  clock 
strike  twelve  and  one  and  two ;  and  then  she  also  fell 
asleep,  wondering  with  her  last  conscious  thought  what 
the  coming  years  would  bring  forth. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    MAINE    PROHIBITIONIST. 

On  the  following  Tuesday  Wellington  was  in  a  state 
of  active  fermentation.  It  was  the  occasion  of  the 
annual  city  election.  On  this  day  was  to  be  decided 
the  important  question  whether  or  not  saloons  should 
be  opened  in  the  city  during  the  ensuing  year.  Meet 
ings  had  been  held  by  both  the  anti-license  and  citizens' 
factions,  and  the  subject  had  been  thoroughly  discussed 
from  the  platform  and  on  the  streets.  It  was  manifest 
that  the  advocates  of  license  were  preparing  for  a  des 
perate  struggle,  and  would  not  scruple  to  use  any  plan 
or  means  which  might  promise  to  contribute,  however 
slightly,  to  their  success.  The  very  name  given  to 
their  movement  was  indicative  of  the  plan  of  their 
campaign.  They  disclaimed  the  name  license,  and 
called  their  ticket  the  citizens'  ticket.  On  what  theory 
they  could  lay  exclusive  claim  to  the  name  citizen  it  is 
hard  to  imagine,  for  Colonel  Mansfield,  Jacob  Haynes, 
and  scores  of  others  were  undoubtedly  citizens,  though 
not  adherents  of  the  so-called  citizens'  movement.  It 
may  be  fairly  inferred,  therefore,  that  the  name  of  citi 
zen  was  adopted  for  the  same  reason  that  a  certain 
long-eared  animal  is  supposed  to  have  donned  a  lion's 
skin  on  a  certain  occasion.  Perhaps  the  use  of  the 
word  citizen  would  induce  some  of  the  weak-kneed  or 
feeble-minded  to  think  that  theirs  was  not,  after  all, 
a  license  ticket,  but  simply  some  sort  of  a  philanthropic 
and  public-spirited  enterprise.  Wearing  such  a  cloak, 
it  might  be  easier  for  the  leaders  to  deceive  some  of 
the  unwary. 

At  any  rate,  certain  high-minded  gentlemen,  who  were 
really  for  license,  but  preferred  to  have  it  called  by  some 
other  name,  would  not  hesitate  to  support  the  side  of 
their  choice  when  labeled  citizens'  ticket,  when  they  might 


24  'A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

balk  at  the  bold  and  unambiguous  expression,  license 
ticket. 

At  the  head  of  this  ticket  stood  the  name  of  Fritz 
Trinkenviellager,  generally  called  Herr  Trinkenviella- 
ger.  His  body  was  shaped  like  a  keg,  and  his  legs 
were  short  and  thick.  He  had  been  nominated  for 
mayor,  not  because  he  was  especially  skilled  in  parlia 
mentary  law,  or  in  the  management  of  municipal  affairs, 
but  because  there  were  many  German  voters  in  Welling 
ton,  and  their  votes  were  wanted,  and  especially  because 
he  was  strictly  "  orthodox  "  on  the  subject  of  "  lipperty," 
deeming  any  attempt  at  making  and  keeping  men  sober 
as  a  tyrannical  infringement  upon  their  inalienable  right 
to  get  drunk  if  they  pleased.  Associated  with  Herr 
Trinkenviellager  on  the  citizens'  ticket  were  certain  other 
champions  of  the  rights  of  man,  among  whom  we  may 
mention  Timmy  Decanter,  Jeremiah  Flask,  Patrick 
O'Toole,  and  Jerry  Tipler.  It  is  unnecessary  to  state  that 
each  of  these  citizens  was  sound  on  the  license  question. 

The  anti-license  party  nominated  a  ticket  composed 
of  fair-minded,  upright  men,  who  were  radically  op 
posed  to  saloons.  At  the  head  of  this  ticket  appeared 
the  name  of  Colonel  Mansfield,  a  representative  man 
of  Wellington,  well  versed  in  parliamentary  law,  and 
thoroughly  acquainted  with  municipal  affairs,  and 
against  whom  no  word  of  reproach  or  evil  could  justly 
be  spoken.  He  had  served  as  alderman  for  a  number 
of  years,  and  was  better  qualified,  all  things  considered, 
for  the  office  of  Mayor  than  any  other  man  in  the  city. 
But  the  Colonel  was  inactive  and  inefficient  as  a  political 
leader,  as  will  presently  appear. 

Before  the  hour  for  opening  the  polls  had  arrived, 
Herr  Trinkenviellager  and  Timmy  Decanter  came  upon 
the  scene  of  action  from  opposite  directions. 

"Goot  mornings,  frent  Decanter,"  said  Herr  Trink 
enviellager. 

"The  top  uv  the  morning  to  yez, "  said  Timmy. 

Thereupon  these  two  would-be  dignitaries  shook 
hands  with  great  enthusiasm  and  cordiality.  Suddenly 


THfi    MAINE    PROHIBITIONIST.  25 

Timmy's  eye  contracted  with  a  peculiarly  knowing 
wink.  He  turned  and  walked  to  the  coal-house  near 
by,  with  his  German  friend  following  close  upon  his 
heels.  They  entered  this  building,  and  after  a  few  min 
utes  emerged  therefrom,  smacking  their  lips,  and  ex 
haling  an  "election  day"  perfume  from  their  throats. 
It  was  evident  that  they  were  preparing  themselves  for 
a  day  of  arduous  labor. 

Presently,  others  joined  them.  By  the  time  the 
polls  were  opened  every  candidate  on  the  citizens' 
ticket  was  on  the  ground,  equipped  for  an  active  cam 
paign  ;  every  embryonic  saloon-keeper  was  -there,  and 
a  great  many  of  the  red-nosed,  red-eyed  portion  of  the 
community  were  there  likewise,  all  greatly  interested 
in  the  business  of  the  day. 

But  Colonel  Mansfield  was  not  there.      In  fact,  only 
one  candidate  on  the  anti-license   ticket  was  present, 
and    that   lonesome    individual     was   Jacob    Haynes. 
Three  or  four  other  anti-license  voters,  not  candidates, 
were  standing  about  the  hall  of  the  court-house,  looking 
frightened  and  discouraged.      Some  of  the  ministers  of 
the  Gospel,  who  preached  against  license  on  the  pre 
ceding  Sunday,  were  at  the  polls  only  long  enough  to 
vote.      One  of   them  was   unwell,    another  thought  it 
unbecoming  in    a  minister   to    participate   in   worldly 
affairs,  and  another  was  busily  engaged  in  preparing  a 
sermon  from    the   text,   "  I   must  work  the   works  of 
him  that  sent  me  while  it  is  day :    the   night  cometh, 
when  no  man  can  work." 

Meanwhile  the  adherents  of  the  citizens'  movement 
marshaled  their  forces  with  great  dispatch  and  order ; 
and  in  a  short  time  every  one  of  them  was  at  work  in 
his  own  peculiar  way,  seeking  to  promote  the  success 
of  the  cause  he  had  espoused.  Timmy  Decanter  and 
Jeremiah  Flask  made  frequent  excursions  to  the  afore 
said  coal-house,  and  each  time  were  followed  by  one  or 
more  of  their  associates.  The  object  of  these  repeated 
visits  to  the  coal-house  could  hardly  have  been  the  in 
spection  of  coal.  It  was  noticed  that  after  each  of 


26  A  SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

these  mysterious  trips  one  of  the  rear  guards  was  es 
corted  to  the  ballot-box  and  assisted  in  casting  a  ballot 
in  the  interest  of  the  great  cause  of  "  lipperty. "  In 
one  instance,  however,  the  voting  was  deferred  for  a 
few  minutes.  The  delay  was  occasioned  by  the  very 
singular  behavior  of  Jocky  Tremblelegs,  a  young  man 
whose  interior  had  evidently  not  become  seasoned  as 
yet.  Contrary  to  the  established  precedents,  he  did 
not  follow  Timmy  Decanter  from  the  coal-house  to  the 
polls,  but  ran  forth  from  the  building,  leaving  Decanter 
to  follow  with  becoming  dignity,  and  hastened  to  the 
well  at  one  side  of  the  court-house  yard,  where  he 
quaffed  a  large  draught  of  that  insipid  liquid  called 
water.  O'Toole  winked  at  Flask,  and  clapped  his  hand 
over  the  region  of  his  stomach,  while  other  red-nosed 
individuals,  who  had  been  initiated  into  the  secret  work 
of  the  coal-house,  laughe  d  outright,  greatly  to  the  con 
fusion  and  discomfiture  of  young  Tremblelegs.  Some 
of  the  faithful  now  became  apprehensive  that  this  lat 
ter  gentleman  might  escape.  But  their  apprehensions 
were  soon  quieted,  for  he  was  duly  lassoed,  and  led  up 
to  the  ballot-box  by  his  friend  Decanter,  there  to  exer 
cise  the  right  of  every  free-born  American  to  vote  as 
he  pleased. 

Now,  Herr  Trinkenviellager  was  a  tobacconist.  He 
had  about  thirty  or  forty  men  in  his  employ.  He  had 
striven  to  hire  none  but  men  of  broad,  liberal  and  en 
lightened  views,  who  were  strenuously  opposed  to  any 
effort  at  the  abridgment  of  mankind's  inalienable 
rights.  But  in  selecting  thirty  or  forty  employes,  it 
was  to  be  expected  he  would  make  a  few  mistakes. 
And  so  he  had.  Three  of  his  employes  were  men  of 
narrow,  illiberal  and  contracted  intellects.  Herr 
Trinkenviellager  had  taken  it  for  granted  that  all  Ger 
mans  were  like  himself,  and  had  employed  them.  This 
was  a  mistake.  It  transpired  that  these  three  were  not 
"  frents  mit  lipperty." 

At  the  hour  of  ten  o'clock  on  election  day,  Herr 
Trinkenviellager  appeared  in  his  factory,  and  announced 


THE    MAINE    PROHIBITIONIST.  2? 

to  his  employes  that  he  expected  them  to  go  to  the 
polls  and  vote  the  citizens'  ticket.  He  said  he  would 
not  keep  men  in  his  employ  who  were  so  illiberal  as  to 
vote  against  license,  and  if  such  were  in  his  factory  he 
wanted  them  to  speak,  and  they  would  be  discharged 
immediately.  He  would  expect  them  to  come  to  the 
polls  by  twos  and  threes,  and  get  their  tickets  from  him. 
One  of  the  three  men  above  mentioned  left  the  place 
where  he  was  working,  and  notified  Trinkenviellager 
that  he  would  leave  the  factory  forever ;  that  he  pro 
posed  to  be  a  man  and  vote  as  he  pleased ;  that  he 
never  had  sold  his  liberty  for  a  position,  and  he  never 
would.  Trinkenviellager  swore  in  the  most  approved 
fashion  at  the  perfidy  of  the  man  whom  he  had  taken 
into  his  bosom  and  nursed  there.  But  the  man  was 
firm,  received  the  balance  due  him,  and  left  the  factory. 
The  other  two  men,  having  families  dependent  on  them 
for  support,  hesitated,  and  then  concluded  to  vote  as 
they  were  required  to  do  lest  they  should  lose  their  posi 
tions.  It  may  be  well  to  remark  in  this  connection  that 
several  of  the  employes,  who  had  been  hired  a  few 
weeks  before  the  election,  in  time  for  them  to  be  qual 
ified  to  vote,  and  who  thought  they  had  secured  per 
manent  employment,  were  discharged  a  few  days  after 
the  election.  Among  these  were  the  two  who  had  sup 
pressed  their  convictions  for  the  sake  of  employment. 

It  was  soon  ascertained  by  the  managers  of  the 
citizens'  movement  that  Johnny  Dale,  one  of  their 
supporters,  was  not  in  Wellington.  A  few  days  before, 
he  had  found  employment  temporarily  at  Holyterror, 
and  would  not  be  present  at  the  election.  Immediately  a 
team  and  buggy  were  hired,  and  a  courier  was  dispatched 
to  bring  this  recreant  gentleman  back  to  the  post  of 
duty.  The  result  was  that  before  the  polls  were  closed 
Johnny  Dale  arrived  in  Wellington,  and  cast  his  ballot 
for  Trinkenviellager  and  the  license  aldermen. 

Herr  Trinkenviellager  and  some  others  undertook 
to  convince  a  capitalist  that  it  was  his  duty,  as  a  public 
benefactor,  in  the  interests  of  business  and  for  the 


28  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

diminution  of  taxes,  to  vote  the  citizens'  ticket.  And 
so  this  great-hearted  man,  moved  by  these  appeals  in 
behalf  of  the  poor,  sacrificed  his  own  personal  feelings 
and  voted  the  citizens'  ticket  without  a  scratch,  saying 
that  the  boys  would  get  their  little  drinks  any  way,  and 
it  would  be  better  to  make  the  business  contribute 
to  the  treasury  of  the  municipality,  and  thus  help  to 
lighten  the  taxes  of  the  poor.  (Some  malicious  by 
stander  here  remarked  that  the  poor  had  nothing  to 
pay  taxes  on,  whereupon  the  capitalist  turned  away 
with  a  sigh,  while  "  ingratitude,  more  strong  than  trai 
tor's  arms,  quite  vanquished  him.") 

The  activity  and  earnestness  of  Trinkenviellager 
and  his  friends  were  certainly  commendable.  They 
had  espoused  their  cause,  not  with  empty  professions, 
but  with  all  their  heart,  mind  and  strength.  They  had 
adopted  condemnable,  yes,  criminal  measures.  From 
such  instrumentalities  the  friends  of  temperance  could 
not  but  abstain.  But  these  might  have  learned  valua 
ble  lessons  from  their  opponents  in  the  line  of  earnest 
ness  and  determination  in  their  \vork. 

In  the  meantime,  where  were  the  anti-saloon  advo 
cates?  A  few  of  them  spent  the  day  at  the  polls,  using 
their  utmost  endeavors  to  advance  the  interests  of  their 
cause.  But  during  the  forenoon  only  a  few  such  were 
at  work.  Others  came  and  voted,  and  then  returned 
to  their  respective  places  of  business.  Some,  when 
sent  for,  answered  that  they  were  busy,  but  would  try 
to  vote  some  time  during  the  day.  And  so  they  did  ; 
many  of  them  during  the  last  hour.  But  the  temper 
ance  cause  lost  the  moral  effect  which  a  large  vote  early 
in  the  day,  and  the  manifestation  of  a  deep  interest, 
would  have  afforded. 

There  was  Deacon  Whinemuch,  who  was  considered 
among  the  godly  as  being  "mighty  in  prayer,"  who 
never  failed  at  any  possible  opportunity  to  send  up  a 
"powerful  petition"  against  the  saloon,  and  who  had 
really  intended  to  be  at  the  polls  all  day,  and  to  use  all 
his  influence  against  the  Titanic  monster.  But  the 


THE    MAINE    PROHIBITIONIST.  2Q 

Deacon  was  forced  by  the  exigencies  of  the  season  to 
plant  potatoes  all  day.  He  found  some  consolation  in 
the  fact  that  his  three  sons  were  able  to  take  his  place 
at  the  polls,  and  render  the  valuable  services  he  had 
been  accustomed  to  render.  Afterwards,  some  envious 
individual  went  so  far  as  to  say  that  he  saw  one  of  the 
Deacon's  sons  follow  Tipler  into  the  coal-house,  and 
then  come  out  and  follow  that  candidate  to  the  ballot- 
box.  Another  observed  that  he  had  heard  rumors  to 
the  effect  that  the  Deacon  had  aspirations  for  the  office 
of  coroner,  and  that  it  was  his  political  ambition,  in 
stead  of  potatoes,  which  had  kept  him  at  home  on 
election  day.  And  so  it  was  that  this  devout  and 
pious  man,  who  had  been  forced  to  plant  potatoes  on 
election  day,  was  unjustly  maligned  by  his  neighbors. 

Jonathan  Sadderface,  superintendent  of  one  of  the 
Sunday-schools,  who  professed  to  have  lived  an  abso 
lutely  pure  and  sinless  life,  bewailed  the  degeneracy  of 
the  times  and  refused  to  participate  in  Csesar's  affairs. 
The  polls  were  "  theaters  of  corruption,"  he  said  ;  they 
were  sources  of  unavoidable  contamination.  Some  of 
the  candidates  on  the  anti-license  ticket  did  not  belong 
to  his  church.  He  had  but  little  choice  between  mem 
bers  of  other  churches  and  men  of  the  world ;  and  all 
men  of  the  world  were  as  bad  as  saloon-keepers.  No 
body  could  be  saved  unless  he  happened  to  espy  the 
little,  contracted  Sadderface  door  into  the  kingdom. 
So  he  remained  at  home,  and  passed  the  day  in  an  at 
mosphere  of  holiness,  save  when  he  remembered  Paul's 
injunction  to  Timothy,  and  retired  to  the  cellar  for  his 
stomach's  sake  and  his  oft  infirmities. 

Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  fore 
noon  of  this  beautiful  day  the  citizens'  ticket  had  re 
ceived  twice  as  many  votes  as  the  anti-license  ticket, 
and  the  outlook  for  the  Colonel's  election  was  exceed 
ingly  gloomy.  License  men  were  jubilant.  Their  op 
ponents  were  discouraged,  and  now  almost  wholly  dis 
organized.  The  sad  intelligence  of  the  probable  triumph 
of  the  license  ticket  was  carried  to  the  basement  of  one 


3<D  A    SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

of  the  churches  where  the  ladies  of  Wellington  were  en 
gaged  in  devout  prayer.  Some  of  them  shed  tears. 
One  sister  proposed  that  they  sing  "Weep  for  the 
Fallen."  This  was  done  with  great  feeling.  Another 
sister  arose  and  said  that  she  felt  this  to  be  the  aveng 
ing  hand  of  Deity,  chastising  them  because  they  had 
not  prayed  more  earnestly — because  they  had  not  re 
lied  more  fully  on  the  Divine  arm.  While  this  sister 
was  speaking  and  exhorting  her  associates  to  more 
fervency  in  prayer,  Elizabeth  Oakford  entered  the  room. 
She  presented,  indeed,  a  singular  appearance.  Her 
clothes  were  covered  with  dust,  her  face  was  flushed 
as  with  violent  exercise,  and  covered  with  an  unflatter 
ing  mixture  of  soil  and  perspiration.  She  asked  to  be 
heard  for  a  few  minutes. 

"I  have  been  a  temperance  worker  for  years,"  she 
said.  "  Having  come  to  Wellington  but  lately,  I  am 
not  yet  connected  with  your  organization  or  acquainted 
with  your  methods  of  work.  But  I  am  with  you  in 
this  contest,  heart  and  hand.  The  election  is  going 
against  us,  so  I  am  informed,  and  I  fear  the  day  is  lost 
beyond  redemption.  But  perhaps  we  can  rally  our 
forces  and  win  the  victory  yet,  if  we  are  only  willing  to 
go  to  work.  Sisters,  I  belong  to  the  church,  and  be 
lieve  in  the  efficacy  of  prayer.  But  I  believe  that  we 
must  work  as  well  as  pray.  If  I  was  confronted  with  a 
wild  beast,  I  would  not  drop  my  gun,  and  pray  God  to 
paralyze  the  animal,  or  strike  it  dead  with  heart-disease, 
but  I  would  aim  my  gun  as  best  I  could,  and  pull  the 
trigger,  crying  out  all  the  while :  '  God  save  me !  God 
direct  the  bullet !  '  Why  not  be  as  wise  in  fighting  this 
monster  of  intemperance?  We  may  outpray  the  devil, 
but  it  is  absolutely  certain  that  the  devil,  is  outworking 
us.  ,  I,  for  one,  am  going  to  the  polls,  and  am  going 
to  get  to  work.  If  you  will  come  and  help,  I  believe 
we  can  beat  them  yet." 

She  spoke  earnestly  and  rapidly.  When  she  paused, 
some  of  the  women  were  looking  as  frigid  as  "Green 
land's  icy  mountain."  One  elderly  lady,  with  a  very 


THE    MAINE    PROHIBITIONIST.  31 

straight  back,  said  that  women  should  not  lower  their 
Christian  dignity  by  mingling  with  the  noisy  and 
drunken  rabble  at  the  polls;  that  she,  for  one,  had 
faith  in  God,  and  would  ask  all  present  to  bow  with 
her  for  a  few  moments  in  silent  prayer.  While  this 
silent  prayer  was  rising  heavenward,  Elizabeth  left  the 
room  and  hastened  to  the  court-house,  her  whole  soul 
crying  unto  the  Divine  Being  this  simple  prayer:  "  God 
help  me  to  do  my  duty !  God  help  me  to  do  my  duty  !  " 
How  came  Elizabeth  to  be  at  the  church  at  this 
hour  and  in  this  strange  condition?  The  reader  will 
remember  that  she  had  obtained  leave  of  absence  from 
her  school  on  this  Tuesday,  and  that  James  Anderson 
had  agreed  to  bring  her  to  Wellington  on  Monday 
evening.  But  Monday  was  a  busy  day  on  Mr.  Ander 
son's  farm,  and  Elizabeth,  desirous  of  not  interfering 
with  important  work,  consented  to  wait  till  Tuesday 
morning.  Monday  evening  one  of  Mr.  Anderson's 
most  valuable  horses  became  dangerously  sick,  so  as  to 
require  the  attention  of  himself  and  son  during  the 
greater  part  of  the  night.  Morning  came,  and  the  horse 
was  no  better.  Katie  was  suffering  from  a  violent  head 
ache,  and  could  not  go  to  Wellington.  So  Mr.  Ander 
son  did  the  best  he  could  under  the  circumstances  by 
offering  Elizabeth  a  horse  and  buggy  till  the  following 
day,  if  she  felt  willing  to  assume  the  responsibility  of 
driving.  This  was  an  easy  task  for  Elizabeth,  accus 
tomed  as  she  had  been,  from  her  infancy  almost,  to  the 
management  of  horses.  As  soon  as  everything  was 
made  ready  she  was  on  her  way  to  Wellington.  But 
it  seems  to  have  been  ordained  that  Elizabeth  should 
be  confronted  with  difficulties  at  every  turn  on  this  day, 
for  when  she  was  within  four  miles  of  Wellington  her 
horse  became  frightened,  and  shied  with  such  violence 
as  to  break  one  of  the  wheels  of  the  buggy.  Fortu 
nately,  this  occurred  near  the  house  of  an  old  man  named 
Silas  Jenkins.  He  assisted  Elizabeth  in  drawing  the 
buggy  into  the  barnyard,  and  told  her  he  would  take 
care  of  the  horse  and  buggy  till  the  next  day,  but  that 


32  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

he  had  no  one-horse  vehicle,  and  that  his  horses  were  all 
in  the  field  at  work,  and  she  would  have  to  stay  at  his 
house  or  walk  to  Wellington. 

There  was  no  time  to  be  lost.  Elizabeth  felt  im 
pressed  with  the  importance  of  her  mission.  Just  in 
what  particular  way  she  might  aid  the  cause  of  temper 
ance  she  did  not  know,  but  she  felt  sure  there  would 
be  something  she  could  do,  and  that  a  little  prayerful 
exertion  in  the  right  direction  would  always  be  pro 
ductive  of  good  results.  She  stood  for  an  instant  only 
at  the  side  of  the  strange  old  gentleman,  and  then  said 
resolutely : 

"  I  must  reach  Wellington  as  soon  as  possible.  If 
I  can  not  find  any  better  way  of  traveling,  I  must  walk. 
It  will  be  only  a  short  walk,  after  all,  and  I  feel  sure  I 
shall  enjoy  it." 

He  assured  her  she  would  have  a  disagreeable  walk, 
and  his  prediction  was  fulfilled.  The  dust  and  heat 
were  almost  unendurable.  Elizabeth  was  in  earnest, 
and  walked  rapidly,  and  when  she  entered  Wellington 
she  was  covered  with  dust  and  perspiration.  She  went 
to  the  court-house,  and  there  met  Jacob  Haynes,  whose 
acquaintance  she  had  formed  at  church,  and  who  was 
surprised  to  find  her  in  Wellington,  and  especially  at 
the  polls.  What  could  she  do  ?  Nothing,  he  assured  her. 
He  himself  had  been  hard  at  work  with  poor  encourage 
ment.  License  would  certainly  win  the  day.  The  so- 
called  anti-license  men  were  not  in  earnest.  If  they 
were,  they  would  show  their  faith  by  their  works.  But 
there  was  nothing  a  woman  could  do.  An  election  was 
an  unsuitable  thing  for  a  woman  to  take  part  in.  He 
would  advise  Elizabeth  to  leave  the  court-house  before 
she  should  be  insulted. 

Elizabeth  turned  to  walk  away,  wondering  what  she 
should  do  next,  when  she  encountered  a  young  man 
whom  she  had  met  on  several  occasions,  named  Lyman 
Sawtheaire,  a  young  attorney  of  Wellington,  of  whom 
much  will  be  said  in  these  pages.  He  lifted  his  hat 
with  excessive  politeness,  and  remarked  that  Miss  Oak- 


THE    MAINE   PROHIBITIONIST.  33 

ford  would  find  most  of  the  ladies  at  church,  engaged 
in  prayer  He  placed  a  peculiar  emphasis  on  the  word 
prayer,  as  if  he  desired  to  indicate  the  futility  of  such  a 
.weapon  in  an  election.  She  said:  "Prayer  may  not 
succeed  as  well  as  the  beer-keg  in  this  particular  elec 
tion  ;  but  it  will  succeed  better  in  the  end.  At  any 
rate,  it  is  a  more  honorable  employment  than  the 
manipulation  of  a  faucet  in  a  barn."  Lyman  Sawtheaire 
colored.  If  Elizabeth  had  known  the  fact,  there  was 
reason  for  his  reddening.  Not  fifteen  minutes  before 
he  had  himself  manipulated  a  faucet  in  a  barn.  But 
Mr.  Sawtheaire  made  no  admission  of  the  kind,  for  he 
was  desirous  of  posing  before  the  good  temperance 
people  of  Wellington  as  a  temperance  man.  He  saw 
that  further  conversation  with  Elizabeth  in  this  line 
might  result  embarrassingly.  And  so,  having  nothing 
further  to  say,  he  lifted  his  hat,  and  with  a  mocking 
smile  passed  on. 

Elizabeth  hurried  away  to  the  church,  and  there 
met  with  a  rebuff  from  her  sisters  who  had  assembled 
together  to  pray  Colonel  Mansfield  into  the  mayor's 
chair.  It  is  probable  that  if  Mrs.  Sellout  had  gone  to 
the  polls  with  her  husband,  who  was  evidently  afraid 
of  her,  he  would  have  voted  the  anti-license  ticket. 
Also  that  she  and  many  other  worthy  ladies  might 
have  -done  about  half  as  much  praying  as  they  did, 
and  then  given  the  other  half  of  their  time  to  hard 
work,  with  better  results. 

When  Elizabeth  returned  to  the  court-house  she 
began  to  throw  bomb -shells  into  the  camp  of  the 
enemy  with  startling  rapidity  and  precision.  Now  and 
then  she  was  greeted  with  a  few  ungentlemanly  words, 
but  her  bearing  and  sincerity  were  such  as  to  command 
the  respect  of  all  her  opponents,  except  the  drunken 
and  hopelessly  incorrigible. 

She  learned  of  two  young  men  at  work  in  the 
country  who  had  always  voted  against  license.  She 
hired  a  horse  and  buggy,  brought  them  from  the  field 
to  the  court-house,  and  walked  with  them  to  the  polls, 


34  A    SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

where  they  voted.  Herr  Trinkenviellager,  wiping  the 
perspiration  from  his  red  face,  remarked  that  Amazons 
were  not  allowed  to  run  at  large  in  the  old  country, 
when  he  received  a  ringing  slap  in  the  face  from  a 
young  man  who  stood  in  front  of  him,  which  caused 
him  to  stagger  back  a  step  or  two  and  to  bridle  his 
tongue.  The  young  man  who  had%slapped  him  was 
William  Manning,  Esq.,  a  quiet  and  law-abiding  youth, 
but  one  who  would  not  suffer  a  woman  to  be  insulted 
in  his  presence,  and  for  whose  prowess  Herr  Trinken 
viellager  had  undoubted  respect. 

Here  the  attention  of  all  was  for  the  moment  drawn 
away  from  every  inferior  incident  to  the  most  touching 
and  painful  event  of  the  whole  day.  Joe  Jimson,  an 
old  drunken  sot,  was  seen  approaching  the  court-house 
with  poor  old  Harry  Henson  leaning  on  his  arm.  Hen- 
son  was  blind  physically  and  morally.  Once  he  had 
been  an  honorable  and  respected  citizen  of  Wellington ; 
now  he  was  regarded  with  mingled  loathing  and  pity. 
While  heartily  favoring  license,  so  strong  was  his  appe 
tite  for  liquor  that  he  invariably  refused  to  vote  till  he 
was  made  drunk.  And  drunk  he  now  was,  reeling 
along  in  utter  darkness,  holding  to  Jimson's  arm,  to 
whom  had  been  assigned  the  diabolical  task  of  prepar 
ing  the  blind  man  for  the  exercise  of  the  elective  fran 
chise. 

"If  you  vote  that  old  man  in  that  condition,  I'll 
prosecute  you  to  the  extent  of  the  law  !  "  cried  William 
Manning,  approaching  Jimson. 

"Yes;  they  used  to  talk  that  a  way  in  old  Kain- 
tuck, "  said  Jimson,  "but  it  takes  an  undertaker  to  scare 
old  Joe.  I  reckon  this  is  a  free  country." 

Yes ;  it  seems  to  be  a  free  country !  Free  for  Jim- 
sons,  free  for  Trinkenviellagers,  free  for  Sawtheaires! 
Notwithstanding  the  protests  of  Manning  and  others, 
the  poor  old  blind  drunkard,  not  realizing  what  he  was 
doing,  was  permitted  to  vote  the  citizens'  ticket.  For 
a  few  minutes  there  was  considerable  excitement  and 
violence  of  speech.  Elizabeth  stood  as  if  transfixed 


THE   MAINE    PROHIBITIONIST.  35 

to  the  stone  floor  of  the  court-house  hall.  She  had 
heard  of  such  deeds,  but  she  had  never  witnessed  them 
before.  Her  brain  seemed  to  be  on  fire.  She  heard 
some  one  say  that  he  supposed  they  had  made  the  old 
man  drunk  at  Trinkenviellager's  barn.  Ah !  she  knew 
where  that  barn  was.  She  had  passed  Trinkenviel 
lager's  fine  residence,  and  had  noticed  his  barn  several 
times.  That  was  the  place,  then,  where  drunkards 
were  manufactured  on  this  election  day !  Without  a 
thought  of  consequences,  she  hurried  from  the  court 
house,  quickening  her  pace  almost  to  a  run  when  she 
was  free  from  the  crowd.  William  Manning  witnessed 
her  strange  demeanor  and  followed  her  at  a  rapid  walk. 
Presently  she  reached  Trinkenviellager's  premises,  and 
then  turned  down  the  alley,  passed  through  the  barn 
lot  to  the  barn,  and  tried  to  open  the  door.  It  was 
fastened.  Looking  around  her,  she  saw  an  axe  at  the 
wood -pile  a  few  steps  away.  She  sprang  forward, 
seized  the  axe,  broke  the  door  open  with  a  few  vigor 
ous  strokes,  and,  finding  the  barn  deserted  just  at  this 
moment,  entered  and  began  her  search  for  Trinken 
viellager's  beer  and  whisky.  In  a  moment  she  found 
several  jugs  and  kegs.  She  heard  footsteps  without. 
The  nearer  they  approached,  the  more  vigorously  she 
plied  the  axe.  Manning  entered  the  barn  through  the 
broken  door,  and  Decanter  and  Tipler  through  a  door 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  building.  But  they  were  too 
late — the  deed  had  been  done.  Beer  and  whisky  were 
perfuming  the  air  and  sinking  through  the  floor  into 
the  earth  below.  Decanter  and  Tipler  stood  in  mute 
astonishment,  looking  at  Elizabeth  as  she  leaned  on  the 
axe  for  a  moment,  with  a  triumphant  smile  lighting  up 
her  face.  Before  tfiey  recovered  from  their  astonish 
ment,  William  Manning  took  Elizabeth  by  the  arm  and 
led  her  from  the  barn  back  to  the  sidewalk. 

"You  must  leave  town  at  once.  Here,  come  to 
Squire  Ingleside's,  and  wait  there  till  I  get  a  buggy," 
whispered  Manning.  "I'll  take  you  away  from  the 
city.  You  will  be  arrested  and  forever  disgraced. 


36  A   SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

Why,  Elizabeth,"  he  said,  speaking  thus  familiarly  in 
his  excitement,  as  he  hurried  her  along,  "you  must  be 
mad.  What  do  you  mean  ?  For  heaven's  sake,  what 
made  you  do  such  a  rash  act?  " 

But  Elizabeth  paused,  freed  herself  with  a  slight 
movement  from  William  Manning's  fingers,  and  then 
looked  into  his  face  with  her  deep,  true,  earnest  eyes, 
and  said  in  tones  as  gentle  and  dispassionate  as  if  noth 
ing  unusual  had  occurred  : 

"  I  am  not  mad,  Mr.  Manning.  Nor  do  I  need 
your  sympathy  or  protection.  I  thank  you  for  your 
interest  in  my  welfare,  but  I  am  abundantly  able  to 
take  care  of  myself.  I  will  not  leave  Wellington  now. 
I  came  to  stay  till  morning,  and  till  morning  I  will  re 
main." 

"  But  you  will  be  arrested,  Miss  Oakford.  Surely 
you  know  the  temper  of  these  men.  You  know  their 
vindictiveness.  You  have  destroyed  property  and 
made  yourself  liable  under  the  criminal  code.  You 
must  go  till  the  excitement  subsides." 

"They  will  not  arrest  me  now,  Mr.  Manning,"  said 
Elizabeth  positively.  "I  am  safe  both  to-day  and  to 
morrow." 

"You  are  certainly  mistaken.  You  do  not  know 
these  men  as  I  do.  The  fact  that  you  are  a  woman—" 
"Will  not  save  me,"  interrupted  Elizabeth.  "True 
enough.  Such  men  have  no  regard  for  sex.  And 
perhaps  they  would  have  the  right  to  say  that  I  have 
taken  a  man's  part  in  this  election,  and  should  not  com 
plain  if  treated  accordingly.  But  the  fact  that  Herr 
Trinkenviellager  will  not  want  publicity  given  to  the 
proceedings  at  his  barn  will  save  me  from  arrest  at 
present.  The  future  can  take  care*of  itself." 

William  Manning  stood  for  a  moment  in  silence. 

"You  are  right,'*  he  said;  "yes,  you  are  right. 
But  let  me  beg  you  not  to  go  to  the  court-house  again." 

"I  must  go,"  she  said  quietly.  There  was  no  with 
standing  her.  Manning  felt  that.  He  spoke  again  : 

"I  have  the  highest  respect  for  you,  Miss  Oakford. 


THE   MAINE    PROHIBITIONIST.  37 

I,  too,  am  opposed  to  the  liquor  traffic — yes,  bitterly 
opposed  to  the  liquor  traffic,  not  only  on  principle, 
but  for  personal  considerations.  But  I  do  think  that 
doing  one  wrong  to  prevent  another  is  hardly  justifi 
able.  I  am  very  sorry,  for  your  sake,  for  what  has  hap 
pened." 

"Mr.  Manning,"  returned  Elizabeth,  "I  am  not 
here  to  enter  into  an  argument  as  to  the  right  or  wrong 
of  what  I  have  done.  I  may  have  violated  law ;  I  may 
have  destroyed  property.  All  of  this  may  be  wrong. 
And  yet  my  conscience  approves  my  course.  There  is 
peace  within.  I  have  destroyed  a  little  property  to 
prevent  its  owner  from  using  it  to  send  men  and  boys 
into  the  grave  and  damn  their  souls.  I  '11  render  a  full 
account  to  my  Maker,  and  let  him  make  up  my  bal 
ance-sheet. " 

With  these  words  she  turned  away,  and  bowing  to 
*  Mr.  Manning,  hastened  by  another  route  to  the  court 
house. 

"She  is  the  strangest  being  I  ever  met,  "thought 
Manning.  "And  yet  there  is  something  about  her 
that  leads  one  captive  to  her  will.  Whatever  her  faults 
may  be,  she  is  certainly  no  Amazon.  She  is  great  and 
good,  and  tender,  too,  as  any  woman  can  or  ought  to 
be." 

And  so  the  day  wore  on,  and  night  came.  The 
polls  were  closed,  the  count  made,  and  the  result  an 
nounced.  The  citizens'  ticket  was  elected  by  majori 
ties  of  from  three  to  ten.  Before  the  coming  of  Eliza 
beth  an  ignominious  defeat  had  been  prophesied  for 
the  anti-license  ticket.  Through  her  energy  and  en 
thusiasm,  and  the  active  services  of  William  Man 
ning,  workers  had  been  inspired  and  set  to  work,  and 
much  had  been  accomplished,  but  the  battle  had  not 
been  won.  Elizabeth  retired  to  rest  with  an  aching 
heart. 

"  If  I  had  come  last  night!  "  she  said  to  herself  in 
bitter  upbraiding.  "  Oh,  if  I  had  only  walked  !  I  be 
lieve  the  day  might  have  been  saved  !  " 


38  A    SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

The  tears  came  into  her  eyes,  and  she  tossed 
about  restlessly  on  her  bed,  as  she  reflected  on  what 
might  have  been  accomplished  by  a  little  effort  put 
forth  in  apt  time. 

Herr  Trinkenviellager,  henceforth  to  be  known  as 
Mayor,  and  his  illustrious  compeers,  were  duly  in 
stalled  into  office  a  few  days  afterwards,  and  proceeded 
at  once  to  render  a  signal  service  to  liberty  by  licensing 
five  saloons  at  five  hundred  dollars  each.  Thereupon 
the  Mayor  said : 

"  Dis  is  a  great  day  for  Vellington.  De  lippertiesof 
de  beople  are  safe." 

When  this  thunderbolt  of  statesmanship  had  been 
hurled,  the  Mayor  descended  from  the  tribune,  and, 
with  much  apparent  self-gratulation,  waddled  out  of 
the  council-chamber. 


CHAPTER  III. 

UNDER   ARREST. 

Elizabeth  returned  to  her  school  on  the  following 
morning.  She  had  been  right  in  her  conjecture  that 
Trinkenviellager  and  his  friends  would  hesitate  to  ar 
rest  her.  They  were  certainly  in  no  hurry  to  have 
their  methods  of  carrying  an  election  ventilated.  Be 
sides,  the  success  of  the  license  party  had  made  them 
good-natured  for  the  time  being,  and  they  were  inclined, 
in  their  exultation,  to  overlook  matters  which  would 
have  been  pressed  to  their  most  serious  consequences 
had  they  been  smarting  under  the  lash  of  defeat. 
Elizabeth  was  thus  permitted  to  resume  her  work 
without  molestation.  The  broken  buggy  was  taken  to 
Wellington  and  fitted  out  with  a  new  wheel,  but  with 
out  expense  to  her,  for  Mr.  Anderson  insisted  that  the 
horse  was  solely  to  blame,  and  that  the  owner  of  the 
horse  should  pay  the  damages ;  and  then  for  several 
days  thereafter  time  passed  away  smoothly  and  pleas 
antly  in  the  Anderson  household. 

One  Friday  afternoon  Elizabeth  decided  to  spend 
Saturday  and  Sunday  at  Wellington.  Mr.  Anderson 
was  very  anxious  to  have  a  private  conversation  with 
her  regarding  matters  in  which  she  was  especially 
interested,  and  volunteered  to  take  her  to  the  city. 
As  soon  as  they  were  on  the  way,  Mr.  Anderson 
approached  the  subject  uppermost  in  his  thoughts  by 
informing  his  companion  that  Professor  Overall,  Super 
intendent  of  Schools,  had  been  threatening  to  revoke 
her  certificate  on  account  of  her  alleged  unwomanly 
and  unlawful  acts  during  the  recent  election. 

"Do  they  condemn  an  accused  in  Illinois  without 
a  hearing?"  she  asked. 

' '  It  seems  that  they  are  threatening  to  do  so  in  this 
case,"  he  answered. 

39 


4O  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

"  How  did  you  obtain  this  valuable  information?" 

"Well,  the  fact  is,  I  don't  know  whether  I  ought 
to  give  names  or  not.  But  yes,  I  '11  do  it.  I  'm  under 
no  pledge  of  secrecy;  and  you  have  a  right  to  know 
who  are  your  friends  and  who  are  your  enemies.  I 
have  it  from  the  mouth  of  Professor  Overall  himself." 

"But  surely  no  officer  at  this  day  of  the  world  would 
dare  act  so  arbitrarily  as  to  deprive  me  of  my  certificate 
without  notice  and  opportunity  to  be  heard !  Surely, 
that  would  be  unlawful !  " 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  the  law  on  the  sub 
ject.  Mr.  Sawtheaire  is  a  lawyer,  and  I  know  he  said 
it  could  and  should  be  done." 

"I  am  not  surprised  at  that,  Mr.  Anderson,"  said 
Elizabeth  with  some  bitterness.  "Mr.  Sawtheaire  is 
my  enemy.  He  is  a  bad  man,  and  he  knows  I  have 
read  his  wicked  mind,  and  he  hates  me  because  I  know 
him.  He  thinks  I  am  a  helpless,  friendless  woman, 
and  that  he  can  deprive  me  of  my  rights,  and  force  me 
to  submit  without  a  struggle,  because  I  have  no  means 
with  which  to  protect  myself.  But  I  would  like  to 
know  what  Professor  Overall's  charges  are,"  persisted 
Elizabeth.  ' '  What  did  he  say  ?  What  great  evil  have 
I  done?" 

' '  He  said  that  you  had  interrupted  the  temperance 
women  while  they  were  engaged  in  prayer,  and  had 
sought  to  advise  them,  in  a  very  offensive  manner,  con 
cerning  their  duty,  and  had  then  gone  to  the  polls  alone, 
when  they  refused  to  follow,  and  had  played  the  part 
of  an  Amazon  at  the  court-house  where  the  election 
was  being  held." 

"Mr.  Anderson,  if  I  am  not  to  be  allowed  the 
right  of  a  hearing  before  Mr.  Overall,  I  do,  at  least, 
claim  the  right  of  a  hearing  from  you.  I  want  to  vin 
dicate  myself  here  to  you,  not  with  a  view  of  retaining 
my  place  in  the  school,  for  if  my  certificate  is  revoked 
I  must  give  up  my  place,  but  simply  that  I  may  be 
understood  by  one  I  have  considered  my  friend.  I 
want  you  to  know  all  the  facts.  When  I  reached 


UNDER   ARREST.  41 

Wellington  I  learned  that  some  of  the  women  of  Wel 
lington  were  at  church  engaged  in  prayer.  Believing 
that  the  Lord  helps  those  who  help  themselves,  and 
that  if  these  good  women  would  go  to  the  polls  their 
presence  there  would  exert  a  constraining  influence 
over  their  husbands  and  sons,  and  assist  in  turning 
the  scales  for  the  right  where  the  contest  was  close,  I 
endeavored  to  get  these  noble  women  to  work  as  well 
as  pray.  I  did  go  to  the  church  and  appear  before 
them  with  the  dust  on  my  clothes  and  the  perspiration 
on  my  face,  and  did  urge  them  to  go  with  me  to  the 
court-house  and  organize  for  work.  They  sought  the 
same  end  I  was  seeking,  but  disagreed  with  me  as  to 
methods.  I  have  never  been  ashamed  to  work  for  an 
end  which  I  have  dared  to  pray  for.  I  never  expect  to 
ask  my  Maker  to  go  and  work  in  a  place  where  I  am 
ashamed  or  afraid  to  go.  I  may  be  wrong  in  my  views 
and  methods ;  but  am  I  to  be  voted  of  immoral  char 
acter  in  Wellington  for  seeking  in  my  way,  even  if  it 
may  not  have  been  the  best  way,  to  defeat  the  license 
party  —  and  that,  too,  by  the  professed  friends  of 
temperance?  What  do  you  think  about  it,  Mr.  Au- 
derson?" 

1 '  Why,  I  am  sure,  Miss  Oakford,  I  hardly  know 
what  to  say.  Of  course  there  was  nothing  immoral  in 
what  you  did.  You  were  indiscreet  —  that  is  all. 
Really,  while  I  respect  you,  I  do  think  you  went  out 
side  of  a  woman's  sphere  when  you  went  to  the  polls 
and  sought  to  influence  the  election.  Politics  and 
government  are  for  men.  With  these  things  women 
should  have  nothing  to  do.  And  yet  I  would  not  for 
a  moment  say  your  course  was  immoral." 

"But,  Mr.  Anderson,  what  would  you  have  a 
woman  do?"  inquired  Elizabeth.  "If  your  house 
were  on  fire,  would  you  consider  it  indiscreet  or  un 
womanly  for  me  to  climb  upon  the  roof  and  try  to  ex 
tinguish  the  flames?" 

' '  That  is  altogether  a  different  case,  Miss  Oakford. 
My  house  is  not  on  fire. " 


42  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

"But  some  men's  brains  are  on  fire,"  persisted 
Elizabeth,  "and  their  homes  are  being  wasted  and 
their  means  squandered  for  strong  drink.  All  I  tried 
to  do  was  to  save  them  and  their  property." 

Mr.  Anderson  shook  his  head  doubtfully.  He 
insisted  that  a  woman's  sphere  was  in  the  family  circle, 
and  that  she  should  not  visit  the  court-house  while  an 
election  was  in  progress  there. 

"  Is  that  my  only  offense,  Mr.  Anderson  ?"  inquired 
Elizabeth.  ' '  Did  the  Professor  prefer  no  other 
charges  ?" 

"  I  suppose  I  might  as  well  tell  all  he  said,"  was 
the  answer.  ' '  Of  course,  you  know  what  is  coming. 
Mr.  Overall  said  that  some  of  the  boys,  without  Mayor 
Trinkenviellager's  knowledge,  had  concealed  some  beer 
and  whisky  in  the  Mayor's  barn,  and  that  you  went  to 
the  barn  and  split  open  the  jugs  and  kegs,  and  destroyed 
their  property.  This  is  the  gravest  charge  of  all." 

"Did  Mr.  Overall  say  the  Mayor  did  not  know 
what  was  going  on  in  his  barn  ?"  asked  Elizabeth. 

"He  certainly  did. " 

"  Then  he  told  what  was  false,"  said  Elizabeth  with 
increasing  indignation.  "And  he  called  them  boys, 
did  he  ?  Boys,  indeed !  Poor,  innocent,  uninstructed 
boys  !  Sowing  wild  oats,  I  presume !  To  be  covered 
over  with  the  mantle  of  charity,  I  suppose !  To  be 
classed  with  those  who  have  not  passed  the  period  of 
youthful  follies  and  indiscretions !  Mr.  Anderson,  do 
you  call  Tipler  and  Decanter  boys?  If  so,  the  city  has 
boys  for  aldermen.  Is  Joe  Jimson  a  boy  ?  I  do  not  pro 
pose  to  undertake  to  justify  myself,  but  do  want  to 
state  all  the  facts.  The  Mayor  and  his  friends  bought 
whisky  and  beer,  and  had  their  kegs  and  jugs  put  into 
the  Mayor's  barn.  That  was  the  base  of  their  supplies 
for  the  purpose  of  corrupting  voters  and  carrying  the 
election.  Do  you  approve  of  such  conduct  ?  Joe  Jim- 
son  took  poor  old  blind  Harry  Henson  to  the  Mayor's 
barn  and  made  him  drunk,  and  then  led  him  to  the 
polls  and  voted  him.  When  I  learned  that,  I  could  re- 


UNDER   ARREST.  43 

strain  myself  no  longer.  I  did  go  to  the  barn  and 
break  open  their  kegs  and  jugs.  If  I  destroyed  prop 
erty,  it  was  property  that  was  being  used  for  unlawful 
purposes.  If  I  did  wrong,  it  was  to  arrest  and  prevent 
a  greater  wrong.  I  am  ready  to  answer  for  my  acts 
on  earth  and  in  heaven.  I  am  ready  to  be  fined  or 
sent  to  jail,  if  the  whole  transaction  can  be  ventilated, 
and  these  corruptionists  brought  to  their  merited  pun 
ishment.  " 

For  a  moment  not  a  word  was  uttered.  Then  Mr. 
Anderson  said  kindly : 

"  While  I  can  not  approve  of  your  course,  Miss 
Oakford,  yet  it  is  not  for  me  to  condemn  you.  It  is 
clear  that  you  violated  the  law,  yet  it  must  be  admitted 
that  your  provocation  was  great.  You  and  I  will  have 
no  misunderstanding  on  the  subject.  But  I  fear  you 
may  lose  your  school,  for  Professor  Overall  has  influ 
enced  the  other  directors  against  you,  and  they  told 
me  this  morning  that  you  should  be  asked  to  resign. 
I  hope  you  will  not  blame  me.  I  '11  do  all  I  can  for 
you,  and  want  you  to  know  that  I  am  your  friend.  I 
think  I  can  prevent  any  hasty  action  on  the  part  of  my 
associate  directors." 

"No  blame  is  attached  to  you,  Mr.  Anderson.  I 
have  received  nothing  but  kindness  in  your  home,  and 
from  every  member  of  your  family.  But  I  see  now 
that  we  must  separate.  I  give  up  the  school  this  very 
minute.  You  shall  not  be  embarrassed  by  trying  to 
defend  me  to  the  other  directors." 

"No,  no,  Miss  Oakford.  Don't  act  so  hastily. 
Wait  a  few  days." 

"Mr.  Anderson,"  answered  Elizabeth,  "I  can  not 
consent  to  accept  any  favors  from  my  enemies.  If 
the  people  of  Callitso  County  see  fit  to  elect  men  to 
office  who  are  under  the  domination  of  the  saloon 
power,  they  can  manage  their  schools  without  me.  I 
do  not  care  to  teach  under  such  a  regime.  I  understand 
well  enough  that  saloon  influence,  backed  by  Lyman 
Sawtheaire,  is  responsible  for  Mr.  Overall's  animosity 


44  A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

towards  me,  and  that  he,  poor  helpless  office-seeker, 
is  at  the  beck  and  call  of  the  saloon  men,  and  dare  not 
disobey  his  masters.  For  him  I  have  only  a  feeling  of 
pity  and  contempt.  The  idea  of  setting  such  a  man 
up  as  a  judge  of  the  moral  qualifications  of  others!  " 

"If  you  need  money,  Elizabeth,"  said  Mr.  Ander 
son,  "  I  can  lend  you  what  you  want,  and  you  can 
return  it,  without  interest,  at  your  convenience." 

"  I  have  some  money, "  she  answered.  "And  if 
I  had  not,  I  would  not  become  a  borrower.  It  is  one 
of  my  established  principles  never  to  borrow  money. 
I  would  go  into  the  field  and  pitch  hay  first.  But  I 
thank  you  for  your  kind  offer,  Mr.  Anderson." 

At  this  point  in  the  conversation,  Mr.  Anderson 
drew  the  reins  in  front  of  a  private  boarding-house, 
which  Elizabeth  had  indicated  as  the  place  where  she 
desired  to  stop.  When  he  had  helped  her  from  the 
buggy,  she  requested  him  to  bring  her  trunk  to  'Wel 
lington  at  his  earliest  opportunity,  and  then,  without 
further  introduction  to  another  subject  which  was  troub 
ling  her  mind,  spoke  very  earnestly: 

"Mr.  Anderson,  I  want  you  to  make  me  one  sol 
emn  promise." 

"Certainly,  if  I  can." 

' '  But  you  can  make  this  promise  if  you  will;  and 
what  is  better,  you  can  keep  it  if  you  will  try  hard 
enough." 

"I  make  no  rash  vows,"  he  said,  "and  aim  never 
to  take  a  leap  in  the  dark." 

"But  you  do  take  leaps  in  the  dark  for  others. 
Why  not  for  your  wife  and  daughter  ?  Why  not  for 
your  son  ?  You  took  a  leap  in  the  dark  when  you 
brought  whisky  home  with  you  from  Wellington  last 
night,  and  when  you  drank  it  this  morning.  You  know 
I  would  not  ask  you  to  make  a  vow  but  for  your  own 
good  and  the  good  of  your  family." 

The  word  impertinent  was  upon  Henry  Anderson's 
lips,  but  when  he  looked  into  Elizabeth's  sad,  earnest 
eyes,  his  lips  refused  to  articulate  the  word.  Then  he 


UNDER    ARREST.  45 

seemed  to  be  awed  by  her  presence.  Was  she  a  seer? 
By  what  power  or  means  had  she  divined  the  facts? 
Had  he  been  taking  leaps  in  the  dark?  And  was  his 
boast  that  he  never  did  so  a  hollow  pretense?  Had 
he  been  coming  under  the  yoke  of  the  drink-demon  ? 
Did  he  know  where  his  present  career  would  lead  him 
— into  what  misery,  into  what  degradation,  into  what 
bottomless  depths  of  perdition  ?  Elizabeth  with  a  few 
incisive  words  had  cut  deep  down  below  the  surface, 
and  laid  the  conscience  bare. 

"  Why,  how  did  you  find  it  out  ?  "  he  asked  guiltily. 

"Then  you  confess  it,"  she  said.  "Ah!  I  knew  I 
could  not  be  mistaken.  I  found  it  out  by  your  strange 
demeanor.  I  found  it  out  by  the  whisky  in  your 
breath.  And  I  think  your  wife  has  noticed  it,  though 
she.  has  said  nothing  to  me  on  the  subject — poor,  suffer 
ing  soul.  Let  me  beg  you,  let  me  implore  you,  never 
to  touch  another  drop.  Oh,  stop  now,  while  you  can. 
There  is  danger  ahead  of  you.  If  you  touch  it  at  all, 
if  you  drink  even  a  single  drop,  you,  with  your  tem 
perament,  are  in  danger.  Promise  me  now,  now,"  she 
said  in  a  .whisper,  "for  I  must  not  stand  here  longer, 
and  others  are  approaching.  Promise  never  to  touch 
liquor  again." 

Henry  Anderson  could  resist  no  longer. 

"  I  promise,"  he  said. 

And  Elizabeth  had  conquered.  But  her  victory  had 
cost  her  a  great  effort.  She  trembled  like  a  leaf ;  and  yet 
only  for  a  moment ;  and  then  she  appeared  calm  and 
self-possessed  as  before. 

After  Henry  Anderson  had  gone  home  that  even 
ing,  he  went  to  the  barn,  poured  out  upon  the  ground 
the  remainder  of  the  contents  of  a  bottle  secreted 
there,  and  then  broke  the  bottle  into  a  hundred  pieces. 

Elizabeth  engaged  lodging  at  the  boarding-house, 
and  then  retired  to  her  room  that  she  might  rest,  and 
consider  her  situation,  and  determine  upon  a  course  of 
action   for  the   future.      Wearied  with    the    harassing 
events  of  the  day,  she  had  sunk  into   a   light    sleep, 


46  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

when  she  was  aroused  by  loud  knocking  at  her  door. 
Hastily  arranging  her  hair,  and  smoothing  her  dress, 
she  opened  the  door,  there  to  behold  the  landlady,  and 
back  of  her  a  large,  uncouth  and  rough-looking  indi 
vidual,  who  said : 

' '  Sorry  to  disturb  the  lady  ;  but  I  've  disturbed 
ladies  before,  and  business  must  be  looked  after  sharp. 
We  officers  has  many  hard  duties  to  perform,  and  no 
body  gets  mad  at  an  officer  for  doin'  of  his  duty.  I 
have  in  my  pocket  a  warrant  for  the  lady's  arrest." 

Now,  if  this  descent  of  the  legal  functionary  had 
been  deferred  until  morning,  Elizabeth  would  undoubt 
edly  have  been  duly  refreshed  with  sleep  and  sufficient 
ly  recuperated  to  bear  herself  with  becoming  fortitude 
under  the  new  persecution.  But  she  had  had  burdens 
enough  for  one  day,  and  had  borne  them  bravely,  too. 
This  additional  load  was  too  much  even  for  Elizabeth, 
and  she  sank  into  a  chair  and  covered  her  face  with  her 
handkerchief.  The  officer  spoke  as  kindly  and  encour 
agingly  as  it  was  possible  fpr  a  bear  to  do.  It  was 
very  comforting  to  Elizabeth  to  be  told  that  it  was 
"no  fun  for  him  to  arrest  a  lady, "and  that  he  was 
merely  "doin'  his  duty."  Politeness  from  an  officer 
under  such  circumstances  is  very  cheering  and  reassur 
ing.  But  either  on  account  of  the  sympathizing  words 
of  the  ursine  officer,  or  because  of  her  own  indomitable 
energy,  Elizabeth  soon  rallied,  and  calmly  arose  and 
put  on  her  hat  and  gloves,  and  said  she  was  at  the  offi 
cer's  command ;  that  she  was  surprised,  and  yet  not 
surprised ;  that  she  was  surprised  because  she  had 
thought  the  license  leaders  would  be  afraid  of  bringing 
trouble  on  themselves,  if  they  should  institute  proceed 
ings  against  her;  and  yet  she  was  not  surprised,  for  she 
knew  they  were  heartless  and  vindictive,  and  would 
take  almost  any  risks  to  wreak  their  vengeance  on 
those  who  dared  to  oppose  the  saloon  power.  The 
officer  apologized,  and  again  expressed  a  desire  for  the 
lady  to  understand  that  he  was  only  performing  a  duty. 
Elizabeth  assured  him  that  she  did  not  blame  him,  and 


UNDER    ARREST.  47 

only  hoped  that  he  would  soon  be  called  upon  to  dis 
charge  his  duty  in  like  manner  with  writs  against  cer 
tain  male  leaders  of  the  opposition. 

The  "  small  boy,"  who  is  ever  on  the  alert  for  the 
discovery  of  some  "new  thing,"  was  not  slow  in  divin 
ing  the  fact  that  Miss  Oakford  was  under  arrest.  Con 
sequently  he  fell  into  line  in  the  procession,  which  was 
enlarged  at  every  turn  by  fresh  accessions  from  the 
genus  "small  boy"  and  the  genus  "chronic  loafer." 
When  Elizabeth  reached  the  stairway  which  led  up  to 
Squire  Ingleside's  office  she  seemed  to  be  the  head  and 
inspiring  figure  of  a  howling  mob.  How  those  sur 
roundings  smote  her  sensitive  spirit !  How  she  shrank 
back  from  even  the  slightest  contact  with  the  filthy  be 
ings  who  composed  the  greater  part  of  her  escort !  She 
seemed  destined  to  tread  the  winepress  alone. 

Elizabeth  was  soon  seated  in  front  of  Squire  Ingle- 
side,  a  short,  fat  man,  with  a  kindly,  honest  face.  Ly- 
man  Sawtheaire  and  Trinkenviellager  were  there,  the 
former  acting  as  attorney  for  the  people,  Billy  Johnson, 
the  State's  attorney,  having  refused  to  take  any  part 
in  the  prosecution.  Mayor  Trinkenviellager  glowered 
at  Elizabeth  in  his  stolid  way,  as  if  he  held  himself 
ready  to  bring  to  the  rack,  the  halter,  or  the  block  any 
individual,  male  or  female,  who  might  seek  to  interfere, 
in  ever  so  slight  a  degree,  with  the  free  course  of  the 
liquor  traffic.  Most  of  those  who  crowded  the  Squire's 
office  almost  to  suffocation  were  in  sympathy  with  the 
Mayor  and  his  views,  and  Elizabeth  appeared  very 
much  in  the  attitude  of  a  lamb  surrounded  by  a  pack  of 
ravening  wolves. 

The  Squire  sympathized  with  her,  however,  and 
his  sympathies  were  certainly  invaluable.  He  fixed 
his  eyes  benignantly  upon  her.  Had  she  any  counsel  ? 
No,  she  had  not ;  she  had  had  no  time  to  see  an  attorney. 
She  had  been  brought  with  unseemly  haste  from  the 
hotel  to  the  Squire's  office.  Here  the  officer  protested 
that  he  had  merely  done  his  duty,  and  Sawtheaire  re 
marked  that  a  faithful  officer  could  not  have  done  less. 


48  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

At  that  moment  William  Manning,  after  much  push 
ing  and  elbowing  of  the  crowd,  effected  an  entrance 
into  the  room,  and  Elizabeth  gave  him  a  grateful  look, 
as  he  announced,  in  a  loud  voice,  that  he  would  gladly 
act  as  the  fair  prisoner's  counsel. 

"Manning  always  turns  up  agin  the  saloons," 
muttered  a  veteran  toper.  "  If  he  ever  runs  for  office, 
his  cake  '11  be  dough.  I  would  n't  vote  for  him  if  he 
was  the  last  man  on  earth." 

But  William  Manning  took  no  notice  of  the  com 
ments  of  the  crowd.  He  inspected  the  complaint  and 
warrant,  and  then  asked  for  two  days  in  which  to  pre 
pare  for  trial.  Mr.  Sawtheaire  demanded  an  imme 
diate  trial.  This  woman,  he  said,  had  trampled  upon 
the  rights  of  prominent  citizens  of  Wellington,  and  it 
remained  to  be  seen  whether  or  not  sex  was  a  defense 
for  such  flagrant  violations  of  the  law.  She  had  for 
feited  every  right  to  be  treated  as  a  lady  by  her 
Amazonian  career.  It  would  be  well  to  teach  prohi 
bitionists  from  the  woods  of  Maine  that  peaceable 
citizens  of  Wellington  had  property  rights  which  cranks 
were  bound  to  respect.  William  Manning  replied  that 
he  had  no  desire  at  the  present  time  to  make  any  grand 
display  of  fireworks,  but  simply  to  ask  for  this  de 
fendant  the  same  rights  which  were  accorded  to  other 
defendants— time  for  conference  with  counsel  and  prepa 
ration  for  trial.  If  the  arrest  of  Miss  Oakford  but 
served  to  reveal  the  hypocrisy  and  duplicity  of  Lyman 
Sawtheaire,  Mr.  Manning  continued,  it  would  certainly 
result  in  good.  He  had  been  posing  as  a  temperance 
man,  while  at  heart  he  was  uncompromisingly  in  favor 
of  license.  The  chivalry  of  his  disposition  and  his 
wonderful  bravery  had  also  been  made  this  day  to 
stand  out  in  bold  relief,  as  he  had  abused  a  helpless 
woman,  under  arrest,  and  without  protection  from  his 
tongue.  In  conclusion,  Mr.  Manning  stated  that  if  the 
Overall  gag-law  was  to  be  applied  by  the  courts  of 
Wellington,  honest  people  ought  to  know  it,  so  that 
they  could  seek  a  residence  elsewhere. 


UNDER   ARREST.  49 

Further  altercation  was  prevented  by  the  vigorous 
rapping  of  the  Squire's  cane  upon  the  floor,  and  his  an 
nouncement  that  Mr.  Manning's  request  was  a  reason 
able  one,  and  that  the  case  would  be  continued  for  two 
days. 

"I  suppose,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  addressing  Saw- 
theaire  and  Trinkenviellager,  "the  lady  may  go  on  her 
own  recognizance.  This  defendant  is  a  lady,  and  the 
charge  is  not  a  very  grave  one." 

"  She  give  bonds,  I  say,  shust  like  any  oder  defend 
ant.  You  haf  one  law  for  a  man,  and  anoder  for  a 
vomans,  hey?"  Trinkenviellager  spoke  excitedly,  Saw- 
theaire  all  the  while  endeavoring  to  restrain  him.  Then 
a  conference  took  place  between  the  Mayor  and  his  at 
torney.  The  Mayor  gesticulated  with  great  vehemence. 
Sawtheaire  was  heard  to  say :  ' '  You  will  ruin  your  case 
with  unnecessary  severity.  I  do  n't  care  a  straw  for  the 
woman,  would  like  to  see  her  go  to  jail  in  fact,  but  for 
the  effect  it  would  have  on  the  case.  Sympathy  would 
turn  in  her  favor." 

4 '  I  care  nodings  for  dat, "  said  the  Mayor.  ' '  Blamed 
crank !  Let  her  go  to  jail ! "  Finally,  Mr.  Sawtheaire 
said  he  thought  the  case  should  take  the  usual  course, 
and  he  would  therefore  insist  on  security  for  the  de 
fendant's  appearance. 

"I  shall  take  the  responsibility  myself  of  permitting 
this  woman  to  go  on  her  own  recognizance,"  said  the 
Squire.  ' '  I  remember  one  case  where  the  late  Senator 
Douglas,  when  on  the  bench,  permitted  a  defendant  to 
go  on  his  own  recognizance,  and  shall  not  hesitate  in 
this  case  to  follow  the  precedent  of  that  eminent 
jurist." 

But  at  this  point  Colonel  Mansfield  and  Jacob 
Haynes  elbowed  their  way  to  the  front,  and  asked  the 
privilege  of  becoming  the  defendant's-  sureties,  in  order 
to  show,  they  said,  that  she  was  not  without  friends 
and  sympathizers.  The  bond  was  made,  and  Elizabeth 
walked  forth  from  the  justice's  office  a  free  woman  for 
two  more  days,  at  least. 


5<D  A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

With  her  mind  filled  with  tumultuous  and  conflict 
ing  emotions,  she  preferred  the  open  air  to  the  seclusion 
of  her  room.  So  she  walked  along  slowly  and  thought 
fully,  heedless  of  the  direction  she  was  taking.  She 
was  thinking  of  the  quiet  and  unpretentious  home  at  the 
edge  of  the  pine  forest  in  the  far-away  State  of  Maine, 
where  she  had  first  seen  the  light  of  day,  and  of  the 
rigidly  conscientious  father  and  tender-hearted  mother, 
who  had  implanted  in  her  young  mind  those  great 
principles  of  right  and  truth  by  which  she  was  striving 
to  direct  her  steps.  She  was  thinking  of  the  stormy 
day  when  that  father,  with  the  toil  of  this  earth-life 
over,  and  the  joy  of  heaven  begun,  was  buried  in  the 
quiet  church-yard  of  the  village  near  his  home.  She 
was  thinking  of  that  other  day,  dark  and  gloomy  to  her, 
though  bright  and  full  of  sunshine  for  others,  when 
that  tender-hearted  mother  was  carried  to  the  same 
quiet  church-yard,  and  laid  away  to  rest  by  the  side  of 
her  husband.  She  was  thinking  of  the  struggle  which 
followed.  For  she  was  the  only  child,  and  her  parents 
were  poor,  and  had  left  her  nothing  but  their  little 
home,  and  hers  had  been  a  great  struggle  for  a  living, 
and,  above  all,  for  an  education,  that  she  might  be  fitted 
for  some  useful  station  in  life.  She  was  thinking  how 
she  had  toiled  and  economized,  how  she  had  wrought 
in  the  house  and  even  in  the  field,  and  afterwards  in  the 
school-room,  to  earn  money  with  which  to  secure  her 
education ;  and  how  she  had  at  last  succeeded,  and  had 
stood  on  the  platform  on  commencement-day,  the  peer 
and  more  than  the  peer  of  her  sister-graduates,  and  had 
received  the  long-continued  applause  of  the  audience 
when  she  had  concluded  her  address  on  the  Maine  law. 
She  was  thinking  of  these  things,  not  in  self-exaltation, 
but  as  facts  of  which  she  might  think  without  ego 
tism.  She  was  thinking  of  her  subsequent  battle  with 
adverse  circumstances,  and  the  measure  of  success 
which  had  crowned  her  labors,  till  she  had  drifted  to 
the  far  West,  and  had  been  stranded  in  the  city  of 
Wellington,  there  to  renew  her  struggle  and  to  fight 


UNDER   ARREST.  51 

anew  the  battles  of  life,  and  to  become  perhaps,  under 
God's  providence,  an  instrument  for  good  in  this  part 
of  his  moral  vineyard. 

Such  thoughts  and  recollections,  with  many  details 
and  mental  pictures  which  can  not  be  written  down, 
passed  through  her  mind  as  she  walked  slowly  along 
the  sidewalks  of  Wellington.  Thus  she  went  on  till 
she  came  to  a  large,  old-fashioned  mansion,  embowered 
in  trees,  with  a  wide  stone  pavement  leading  from  the 
gate  up  to  the  veranda.  Near  the  alley,  at  the  rear  of 
these  premises,  was  a  large  barn  which  Elizabeth  had 
seen  before.  Yes,  there  she  had  become  a  violator  of 
the  law;  there,  stirred  to  the  depths  of  her  soul  by 
the  shameless  effrontery  of  a  great  wrong,  she  had  vio 
lated  rights  of  property  protected  by  the  law,  and, 
while  attempting  in  her  own  feeble  strength  to  stay 
corruption  at  the  polls,  had  made  herself  amenable  to 
punishment  by  an  infraction  of  the  criminal  code. 
This  mansion,  then,  was  the  residence  of  Mayor 
Trinkenviellager ;  and  that  sturdy  little  boy  of  five 
years  playing  near  the  gate  was  the  Mayor's  son. 

"Poor  child!"  thought  Elizabeth,  her  thoughts 
now  turned  into  a  new  channel.  "  Who  will  teach  you 
right  from  wrong  on  this  great  question  of  temper 
ance  ?  Who  will  plant  the  seed  of  virtue  in  your  tender 
heart  before  the  weeds  and  tares  have  taken  full  posses 
sion  there?  Not  your  father,  I  fear."  She  paused  for 
a  moment  at  the  gate  and  spoke  pleasantly  to  the  child, 
who  answered  her  very  becomingly,  and  then  drew 
near  her  very  shyly,  and  showed  her  a  bright-colored 
butterfly  he  had  caught,  and  explained  the  method  of 
its  capture.  Then  Elizabeth  asked  him  if  he  went  to 
Sunday-school.  He  answered  that  he  did  not;  that 
his  ma  wanted  him  to  go,  but  that  his  pa  did  not  be 
lieve  in  Sunday-schools.  Elizabeth  said  that  she  taught 
a  large  class  of  boys  and  girls,  some  about  his  age, 
and  others  older  and  younger,  and  that  she  would  like 
to  have  him  come  and  be  a  member  of  her  class.  He 
said  he  would  like  her  for  a  teacher,  for  she  "talked 


52  "A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

good,"  and  he  would  ask  his  pa  and  ma  about  it  that 
very  day. 

Elizabeth  went  on.  After  a  while  she  turned  around 
and  walked  back  as  she  had  come.  She  saw  the  little 
boy  still  playing  near  the  front  gate.  With  hat  in 
hand  he  was  trying  to  capture  another  butterfly.  Now 
he  ran  forward,  and  now  he  stepped  backward,  and 
finally,  seizing  a  favorable  opportunity,  clapped  his  hat 
upon  the  ground  over  the  butterfly,  as  he  thought; 
then  he  knelt  down  and  cautiously  raised  the  side  of 
his  hat  and  peered  under.  But  ah  !  master  butterfly 
had  been  too  quick  for  him,  and  had  not  been  caught 
at  all,  but  was  even  now  wheeling  away  from  this 
dangerous  ground  to  a  place  where  there  were  no  little 
boys.  In  an  instant  the  little  fellow  was  on  his  feet 
again,  but  this  time  he  was  not  the  pursuer,  but  the 
pursued.  An  angry  bee  was  buzzing  fiercely  in  front 
of  his  face.  He  fell  back,  fighting  the  bee  with  his 
hat,  just  as  Elizabeth  reached  the  gate.  And  then  her 
quick  eye  detected  a  graver  danger  than  any  to  be 
apprehended  from  the  furious  bee.  A  servant  had 
brought  a  tub  of  boiling  water  to  the  walk  near  the 
veranda,  to  use  in  scrubbing  the  walk,  and  had  run  back 
to  the  house  for  a  broom.  The  offended  bee  was 
driving  the  little  boy  back  towards  the  tub.  Elizabeth 
called  and  sprang  forward,  but  not  in  time.  He  struck 
the  tub  and  fell  backward  into  the  boiling  water. 
Piercing  screams  brought  the  mother  and  sisters  to  the 
door ;  but  Elizabeth  was  at  the  tub  first.  She  ran  as 
on  the  wings  of  the  wind,  and  thrust  her  arms  up  to 
the  elbows  in  the  water  under  the  child,  and  lifted  him 
out  of  his  fiery  baptism,  and  bore  him  in  her  scalded 
arms  to  the  house,  and  laid  him  on  a  bed. 

The  mother  and  sisters  were  beside  themselves 
with  grief,  and  in  their  nervousness  and  excitement 
knew  not  where  to  go,  what  to  do,  whither  to  turn. 
Elizabeth  sent  one  of  the  neighbors  for  the  doctor  and 
another  for  the  father.  The  doctor  came  first,  and 
applied  soothing  lotions  to  the  burned  surface.  There 


UNDER   ARREST.  53 

was  no  nope,  he  said;  the  child  must  die.  All  that 
could  be  done  would  be  to  alleviate  his  sufferings, 
though  the  probability  was  that  the  child  would  not 
rally  from  the  shock  so  as  to  need  medical  aid  even 
for  that  purpose.  Elizabeth's  arms  were  bound  up, 
and  without  a  murmur  she  continued  her  ministrations. 
Under  the  circumstances  no  one  thought  of  her  in 
juries,  and  she  thought  not  of  them  herself. 

The  father  was  found  in  Harvey  Holly's  saloon,  and 
came  home  with  all  possible  dispatch.  This  was  his 
youngest,  his  darling  child,  and  his  grief  was  uncon 
trollable.  He  upbraided  himself,  he  upbraided  the 
servant,  his  wife,  his  other  children,  and  Elizabeth. 
Why  had  not  Elizabeth  seen  the  danger  sooner,  and 
saved  his  darling  boy? 

Elizabeth,  unmindful  of  his  upbraidings,  continued 
to  assist  in  the  care  of  the  child  until  twelve  o'clock  at 
night,  when  the  struggle  ceased,  and  the  sufferer  passed 
beyond  the  reach  of  earthly  help.  Then  she  turned 
her  attention  to  the  wants  of  the  living,  and  to  prepa 
ration  of  the  body  for  burial,  assisting  the  undertaker 
in  his  sad  offices,  and  did  not  leave  that  desolated  home 
till  the  sun  was  stealing  in  through  the  closed  blinds. 

Elizabeth's  trial  was  to  take  place  on  Monday  morn 
ing,  and  the  funeral  on  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day. 
On  Monday,  Lyman  Sawtheaire  sought  a  conference 
with  the  Mayor,  and  it  was  agreed  between  those 
gentlemen  that,  notwithstanding  their  private  personal 
hatred  towards  Elizabeth  and  desire  for  her  punishment, 
recent  events  left  but  one  course  for  them  to  pursue 
without  bringing  upon  themselves  the  contempt  and 
condemnation  of  the  whole  community.  "If  there  is 
such  a  thing  as  Providence,  that  thing,  or  person,  if 
you  please,  certainly  spreads  a  protecting  shield  over 
her."  These  were  the  words  of  Sawtheaire  as  he  left 
the  Mayor's  residence. 

When  the  hour  for  Elizabeth's  trial  arrived,  Lyman 
Sawtheaire  arose  and  stated  that,  at  the  Mayor's  re 
quest,  the  suit  would  be  dismissed.  This  was  done, 


54  A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

and  Elizabeth  was  discharged  from  her  recognizance. 
A  murmur  of  approval  ran  around  the  room.  There 
was  no  dissenting  voice.  The  few  whose  better  nature 
did  not  have  a  temporary  triumph,  and  who  yet  de 
manded  the  law's  "pound  of  flesh, '"  had  the  good 
sense  and  discretion  to  remain  silent. 

Elizabeth  did  not  return  tp  the  country  to  teach, 
but  a  short  time  afterwards,  through  the  influence  of 
Squire  Ingleside  and  Colonel  Mansfield,  she  was  ap 
pointed  to  one  of  the  professorships  in  the  Wellington 
College. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A    STRANGE    INTRODUCTION. 

During  the  following  August,  Henry  Anderson 
rented  a  commodious  house  in  Wellington,  and  began 
transferring  his  effects  from  the  farm  to  the  city.  One 
afternoon,  he  and  Katie  remained  at  the  farm,  while 
Mrs.  Anderson  and  James  took  a  load  of  furniture  to 
Wellington,  expecting  to  return  before  dark. 

Katie  spent  part  of  the  afternoon  in  searching  the 
house  for  hidden  treasure,  and  prosecuted  her  search 
vigorously  from  cellar  to  attic.  While  in  the  attic,  her 
eye  was  arrested  by  an  opening  in  the  narrow  strip  of 
ceiling  near  the  large  chimney  on  the  north  side  of  the 
room.  Could  anything  worthy  of  preservation  have 
been  buried  in  that  narrow  receptacle  ? 

She  was  hardly  able,  by  standing  on  tiptoe,  to 
reach  the  opening  with  her  hand.  So  she  brought  a 
pile  of  waste  papers,  and  stacked  them  beneath  the 
opening,  and  then,  standing  upon  them  and  holding  to 
the  chimney  with  one  hand,  succeeded  in  putting  her 
other  hand  through  the  opening.  Ah  !  yes,  her  search 
was  not  in  vain.  Her  hand  rested  upon  something  at 
last,  a  cold  body,  slick  like  glass.  At  first  she  was 
hardly  able  to  touch  it,  but  with  a  little  effort  she 
grasped  it  at  last  and  brought  it  forth.  Sure  enough,  it 
was  glass — a  bottle  of  a  peculiar  shape,  flat  at  the  sides, 
and  capable  of  holding  about  a  quart.  It  was  about  half 
full  of  an  amber-colored  liquid.  What  was  it  ?  And 
why  was  the  bottle  concealed  in  that  place,  where"  it 
was  almost  beyond  reach?  "  No,  not  beyond  father's 
reach,"  thought  Katie.  "  He  is  so  much  taller  than 
I,  that  he  could  stand  on  the  bare  floor  and  reach  it 
easily."  She  shuddered,  for  she  thought  the  bottle 
contained  liquor,  and  she  knew  it  must  have  been  put 
into  that  hiding-place  by  her  father  or  brother, 

ss 


$6  'A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

As  she  held  the  bottle  between  her  and  the  light, 
handling  it  about  as  a  woman  would  handle  a  loaded 
revolver  for  the  first  time,  and  almost  expecting  to  see 
Lilliputian  serpents  writhing  and  twisting  about  in 
the  liquid,  she  heard  her  father's  step  on  the  stair 
way,  and  his  voice  calling  out:  "What  are  you  doing 
up  there,  Katie  ?"  In  a  moment  his  head  appeared, 
then  his  entire  form.  Henry  Anderson  was  like  every 
other  guilty  man — his  guilt  was  uppermost  in  his  mind. 
Not  finding  Katie  in  the  lower  part  of  the  house,  nor 
hearing  her  in  the  second  story,  the  thought  immedi 
ately  occurred  to  him  that  she  might  be  in  the  attic, 
whither  he  had  been  directing  his  steps  to  hold  another 
meeting  with  his  precious  bottle.  So  he  hastened  to 
the  attic,  calling  out  as  he  ascended  :  "  What  are  you 
doing  up  there,  Katie?" 

"  See  what  I  have  found  by  the  chimney,  father," 
cried  Katie.  Now  the  cork  was  out  and  the  bottle 
was  at  her  nose.  Her  worst  suspicions  were  confirmed. 

Her  father's  face  began  to  turn  red.  He  struggled 
to  keep  down  the  color,  but  in  vain.  The  more  he 
struggled,  the  more  self-conscious  he  became,  and  the 
higher  the  bright  red  blood  mounted  and  the  closer  it 
pressed  upon  the  cuticle,  till  Katie  noticed  his  unusual 
and  distressed  appearance,  and  knew  that  her  father, 
and  not  her  brother,  was  the  owner  of  the  deadly  bottle. 
She  cried  out  in  tones  of  painful  surprise  :  "  O  father !  " 

And  now  some  hardened  drinker,  who  has  a  skin 
like  a  rhinoceros,  and  a  heart  like  New  Hampshire 
granite,  and  about  as  much  sensibility  as  an  oyster- 
shell,  turns  up  his  glowing  proboscis  with  a  contemp 
tuous  smile,  and  says:  "Pooh!  What  is  Anderson 
afraid  of  that  girl  for?  I  tell  you  what  I  'd  do,  I  'd 
thrash  her  and  tell  her  to  mind  her  own  business !" 

Certainly  you  would,  most  noble  and  valiant  patron 
of  the  bowl !  But  all  men  are  not  cut  out  by  the  same 
pattern,  or  made  of  the  same  material.  Henry  Ander 
son  did  not  scold  or  whip  his  daughter.  He  did  not 
fly  into  a  furious  passion  and  notify  her  to  mind  her 


A   STRANGE   INTRODUCTION.  5/ 

own  business.  He  was  by  no  means  sure  that  she  was 
not  minding  her  own  business  at  this  very  moment. 
He  was  mortified.  He  had  never  intended  that  the 
idol  of  his  heart  should  know  that  he  had  formed  the 
habit  of  drinking. 

"  What,  my  child  ?"  he  asked,  endeavoring  to  com 
pose  himself,  and  vainly  striving  to  appear  unconscious 
of  guilt. 

"Father!  father!"  cried  Katie,  as  she  threw  her 
arms  around  his  neck,  and  looked  into  his  face.  But 
now  he  had  regained  his  composure.  He  kissed  Katie, 
and  asked  her  what  was  the  occasion  of  her  alarm. 
He  assured  her  that  he  was  well,  admitting  that  he  had 
overtaxed  himself  in  lifting  an  old  sideboard,  but 
asserting  that  he  had  not  been  injured  in  the  least. 

"  It  is  not  that,  father — it  is  not  that,"  said  Katie. 
"  It  is  that  bottle  which  I  found  there."  She  pointed 
to  the  opening  in  the  ceiling.  "Father,  have  you 
been  drinking?" 

Henry  Anderson  could  not  resent  this  question. 
There  was  no  unkindness  in  Katie's  manner,  there  was 
no  harshness  in  her  tones,  but  only  a  mingling  of  sad 
ness  and  surprise. 

"That  bottle,"  he  said,  as  he  took  it  from  Katie, 
and  threw  it  out  of  the  attic  window,  ' '  that  bottle  had 
some  horse  medicine  in  it,  and  I  put  it  up  there  by 
the  chimney  so  that  you  children  would  not  get  hold 
of  it." 

This  did  not  satisfy  Katie.  She  had  a  suspicion 
that  her  father,  who  had  never  deceived  her  before, 
was  seeking  to  deceive  her  now,  though  she  dared 
make  no  such  accusation. 

Mr.  Anderson  had  strange,  sad  thoughts  as  he  de 
scended  from  the  attic  and  hurried  away  to  his  work. 
Katie  could  have  the  freedom  of  the  house  now,  for  all 
he  cared,  could  roam  from  attic  to  cellar,  and  inspect 
every  article  she  might  find,  and  thrust  her  hand  into 
every  nook  and  cranny  of  the  whole  establishment. 
She  would  find  nothing  to  increase  the  pangs  of  his 


$8  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

conscience.  He  had  deliberately  lied  to  his  daughter. 
Horse  medicine,  indeed!  If  it  was,  then  he  himselt 
was  the  horse.  He  had  brought  that  bottle  with  him  from 
Wellington  the  day  before,  and  hidden  it  where  Katie 
found  it,  and  more  than  once  had  he  stolen  up  to  the 
attic,  like  a  thief  in  his  own  house,  and  turned  down  a 
portion  of  its  contents.  He  had  tried  to  justify  him 
self  in  what  he  had  done  by  the  reflection  that  he  had 
taken  whisky  merely  as  a  medicine.  His  work  in  mov 
ing  had  been  doubly  laborious,  and  he  had  really 
needed  some  kind  of  stimulant  to  sustain  his  sinking 
frame.  But  conscience  answered  that  men  were  not 
accustomed  to  hide  medicine  in  a  hole  in  the  attic, 
and  then  sneak  away  from  other  members  of  the 
family  when  they  took  their  dose.  And  reason  whis 
pered  that  if  he  had  taken  this  medicine  to  stimulate 
him  at  his  work,  he  should  have  shared  so  good  a  thing 
with  his  wife  and  children,  who  had  also  been  at  work, 
and  were  certainly  not  more  robust  than  he  himself 
was.  "No,"  he  admitted  to  himself,  "my  excuses 
are  all  lame.  I  have  broken  my  promise  to  Elizabeth, 
and  lied  to  Katie.  These  are  harsh  words,  but  they  tell 
the  truth." 

Then  he  thought  of  Elizabeth's  great  anxiety  in  his 
behalf,  and  sought  to  solace  himself  with  the  reflection 
that  she  was  morbidly  sensitive  on  this  subject.  ' '  I 
am  in  no  danger,"  he  reasoned.  "I  have  strength  of 
purpose  and  an  unconquerable  will,  and  can  drink  or 
not,  just  as  I  please.  Now  there 's  poor  Joe  Jimson, 
who  seems  to  have  lost  all  control  of  himself.  He  is 
to  be  pitied.  And  yet  Jimson  could  sober  up  if  he 
wanted  to.  He  does  n't  try,  that  is  what  is  the  matter 
with  him.  I  've  never  been  drunk,  and  never  expect 
to  be.  So  it  makes  no  real  difference  whether  I  've 
kept  my  promise  to  Elizabeth  or  not.  No  real  differ 
ence,  I  say !  Of  course,  it  is  bad  to  break  one's  word ; 
but  she  will  never  know  it,  I  hope,  and  I  '11  never  be 
harmed  by  a  little  dram  now  and  then.  Pooh !  I  have 
a  contempt  for  a  man  who  can  't  control  his  appetite ! 


A   STRANGE   INTRODUCTION.  §9 

A  man  can 't  be  temperate  unless  he  drinks  some. 
Temperance  is  the  use  of  it  in  moderation.  But  I  do 
hope  that  Katie  will  not  mention  this  thing  to  Eliza 
beth."  Then  a  sarcastic  smile  played  around  his 
mouth  as  he  thought  that  even  if  the  first  part  of  his 
statement  to  Katie,  that  the  bottle  contained  horse 
medicine,  was  false,  the  latter  part  of  his  statement  was 
undeniably  true — he  had  thrust  the  bottle  through  the 
hole  by  the  chimney  so  that  the  children  "  would  not 
get  hold  of  it." 

Katie  made  the  fire  in  the  cook  stove  and  filled  the 
teakettle  with  water,  and  then  strolled  out  to  the  gate, 
and  stood,  bare-headed,  under  the  shade  of  a  large  elm 
tree,  enjoying  the  cool  and  refreshing  breeze  that  swept 
across  her  face  from  the  east.  Her  mind  was  soon 
diverted  from  the  sad  events  which  had  just  taken 
place.  She  looked  over  the  fields  to  the  trees  that 
grew  beyond.  Surely  God  had  never  made  a  lovelier 
country,  he  had  never  spread  out  before  the  eye  a  more 
delightful  landscape,  he  had  never  breathed  upon  the 
earth  a  more  glorious  day !  For  a  while  she  stood  in 
the  shade,  her  soul  dilated  with  unutterable  happiness, 
without  a  thought  of  the  revelation  her  visit  to  the 
attic  had  made,  and  then  she  left  the  yard  and  walked 
slowly  up  the  road,  scarcely  thinking  of  what  she  was 
doing,  in  the  direction  of  two  large  cottonwood  trees 
which  grew  on  the  west  side  of  the  road  two  or  three 
hundred  yards  north  of  the  house.  Most  of  the  walk- 
was  in  the  shade,  for  the  declining  sun  was  hidden  from 
view  by  Mr.  Anderson's  large  orchard.  She  saw  the 
shadows  as  they  stretched  across  the  road,  and  she 
thought  for  a  moment  of  the  shadows  that  sometimes 
fall  across  the  soul.  Was  a  shadow  about  to  darken 
their  home  ?  She  had  never  thought  of  this  as  a  pos 
sibility  before.  But  if  her  father  had  commenced 
drinking,  the  idleness  of  city  life  and  the  proximity  to 
saloons  there  might  draw  him  gradually  away  from  the 
shore  into  the  terrible  whirlpool  of  death.  These 
lugubrious  thoughts  passed  away.  The  influences  of 


6O  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

this  day  were  too  cheering,  too  soul-inspiring,  to  allow 
long  of  a  sad  train  of  reflections,  and  her  face  soon 
beamed  with  joy  again  as  she  pursued  her  aimless  walk. 
She  crossed  the  large  bridge  which  spanned  the  deep 
creek  between  her  father's  house  and  the  cottonwood 
trees,  pausing  for  an  instant  on  the  bridge  and  looking 
over  into  the  muddy  water  below.  Then  she  went  on, 
and  paused  not  again  till  she  stood  by  the  trunk  of  the 
first  tree.  The  earth  had  been  washed  away  from  one  of 
the  large  roots  of  this  tree,  and  here  Katie'found  a  com 
fortable  chair,  and  here  she  sat  down,  thinking  all  the 
while  a  thousand  unutterable  things.  She  must  have 
sat  for  some  time  as  if  in  a  trance,  looking  away  to 
wards  the  south  with  that  dreamy  expression,  in  which 
she  saw  and  yet  did  not  see  the  billowy  fields  and  the 
forest-covered  hills  beyond  them. 

Presently  an  unusual  noise  attracted  her  attention. 
It  was  a  peculiar  and  unnatural  barking  from  the  north. 
Aroused  from  her  reverie,  she  turned  quickly  in  the 
direction  from  whence  the  sound  seemed  to  come,  just 
in  time  to  behold  a  large  dog  cross  the  road  some  dis 
tance  above  her,  and  leap  over  the  west  fence  into  her 
father's  field.  It  was  not  her  father's  dog.  Its  pecu 
liar  bark  frightened  her,  although  the  beast  had  passed 
without  seeming  to  take  notice  of  her. 

As  the  animal  bounded  across  the  road  she  saw  dis 
tinctly  what  appeared  like  strings  of  ropy  saliva  hang 
ing  from  its  mouth.  Wondering  what  was  the  matter 
with  the  poor  creature,  she  arose  to  go  to  the  house, 
thinking  she  had  delayed  too  long  already,  and  would 
be  late  in  getting  supper.  Raising  her  eyes  as  she 
arose  from  her  improvised  chair,  she  saw  a  team  rapidly 
approaching  from  the  north.  For  a  moment  she 
thought  of  her  mother  and  brother,  and  then,  observ 
ing  that  this  was  a  buggy  instead  of  a  wagon,  felt  no 
longer  any  personal  interest  in  vehicle  or  driver,  and 
walked  on  briskly  towards  the  bridge. 

She  paused  for  an  instant  on  the  bridge  and  looked 
over  into  the  bed  of  the  stream  once  more,  and  then, 


A   STRANGE    INTRODUCTION.  6 1 

quickening  her  pace,  went  rapidly  towards  the  house. 
She  had  taken  but  a  few  steps,  however,  when  the 
rumbling  of  the  buggy  over  the  road  behind  her  and 
the  clattering  of  the  horses'  hoofs  admonished  her  to 
leave  the  beaten  track.  She  had  just  stepped  aside  on 
the  rough  ground  at  the  right  of  the  track  when  she 
heard  again  the  peculiar  barking  of  the  dog  she  had 
seen  but  a  few  minutes  before.  The  animal  had  made 
a  half  circle  on  her  father's  farm,  and  had  leaped  into 
the  road  again,  this  time  between  the  house  and  the 
bridge.  She  paused,  almost  paralyzed  with  fear.  The 
animal  was  in  a  frenzy,  barking  furiously,  and  running 
with  unnatural  speed.  Towards  her  it  flew  with  mani 
fest  vicious  intent.  For  an  instant  more  she  was 
irresolute.  She  heard  the  noise  of  the  buggy  just 
behind  her,  but  thought  not  of  danger  from  that  direc 
tion.  She  turned  and  fled  towards  the  bridge,  with 
the  maddened  brute  just  behind  her  gaining  rapidly 
upon  her,  and  snapping  as  it  ran.  As  she  sped  across 
the  road  the  driver,  who  was  no  other  than  William 
Manning,  threw  his  whole  weight  on  the  lines,  and 
reined  in  his  horses  so  suddenly  as  to  throw  them  back 
upon  their  haunches  and  cramp  the  buggy  against  a 
stone,  while  a  sharp,  crackling  sound  and  the  lurching 
of  the  buggy  announced  that  wheel  or  axle  had  given 
way.  He  was  not  too  soon.  Katie  crossed  the  road 
almost  within  reach  of  the  horses'  hoofs  as  they  pawed 
the  air  and  then  lunged  forward  in  a  mighty  effort  to 
free  themselves  from  the  constraint  of  the  lines.  It 
was  a  terrible  flight.  The  rabid  dog  was  now  within 
a  few  steps  of  her,  and  almost  flying  in  its  eagerness 
and  ferocity  towards  its  helpless  victim. 

Manning  saw  the  situation  at  a  glance.  The  dog 
was  in  the  most  violent  throes  of  hydrophobia.  A  few 
more  jumps,  and  its  teeth  would  sink  into  the  young 
woman's  flesh,  and  she  would  be  doomed  to  the  most 
horrible  of  deaths.  His  buggy  was  broken  down  ;  the 
blood  of  his  horses  was  up.  Without  a  driver  they 
Would  dash  down  the  road  to  the  utter  destruction  of 


62  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

the  buggy  and  imperiling  of  their  lives.  But  what 
mattered  it  ?  What  cared  he  for  a  thousand  buggies, 
for  a  thousand  horses,  at  such  a  time  as  this?  What 
cared  he  for  his  own  life  when  that  of  this  fair  child 
was  in  danger?  As  light  flashes  through  space,  these 
thoughts  flashed  through  his  mind.  The  dog  had 
taken  but  two  or  three  leaps  more.  Katie  had  fallen 
down,  prostrated  with  terror,  at  the  brink  of  the  preci 
pice  near  the  corner  of  the  bridge.  He  leaped  from 
the  buggy,  and  away  went  the  horses  as  an  arrow  from 
the  bow!  The  dog  was  just  passing,  not  three  feet 
from  where  Manning  touched  the  ground.  With 
another  leap  he  was  upon  the  beast's  back,  with  his' 
arms  closed  around  its  neck  like  a  vise.  And  now  the 
unnatural  struggle  began.  They  were  not  more  than 
three  feet  from  Katie.  The  dog  snapped  at  her,  and 
the  poor  child,  with  the  feeble  strength  that  was  left 
her,  threw  herself  forward  and  over  the  bank  of  the 
creek. 

By  this  time  Manning  and  the  dog  were  rolling  over 
and  over,  and  struggling  upon  the  ground  with  despera 
tion  unparalleled.  Madness  gave  the  animal  double, 
treble,  quadruple  strength.  In  the  frenzy  of  its  dread 
ful  disease,  it  struggled  to  free  itself  from  Manning's 
grasp,  snapping  all  the  while,  and  seeking  to  bite  his 
flesh.  Manning's  great  strength  seemed  multiplied  be 
yond  all  calculation.  To  release  his  hold  meant  to  be 
bitten  by  the  rabid  dog.  It  was  a  terrible  fight  for  life. 
Over  and  over  they  rolled,  now  nearer  the  precipice, 
now  farther  away.  His  veins  stood  out  like  great 
cords.  The  perspiration  rolled  from  his  brow.  His 
strength  began  to  fail.  He  felt  that  the  dog  would 
prevail  unless  he  could  find  some  way  to  dispatch  it, 
and  that  speedily.  "The  creek!  the  creek!  "  he  mut 
tered  between  his  teeth  as  he  swayed  to  and  fro  with 
the  desperate  movements  of  the  beast.  With  super 
human  strength  he  half  rose  and  threw  himself  and 
the  dog  forward.  They  fell  within  a  foot  of  the  brink. 
Again  he  sought  to  throw  himself  forward,  but  his 


A    STRANGE    INTRODUCTION.  63 

foot  slipped,  and  he  rolled  farther  away.  He  was 
almost  in  despair.  "Once  more,"  he  thought.  "If 
I  fail,  I  'm  gone !  God  help  me!"  Now  his  foot  rested 
against  a  solid  substance.  It  was  one  of  the  stones  in 
the  approach  to  the  bridge.  He  planted  his  foot  firmly 
against  it,  and  threw  himself  forward  with  his  remain 
ing  strength  upon  the  verge  of  the  precipice.  Then 
the  earth  gave  way,  and  man,  dog  and  earth  rolled 
from  the  bank  into  the  stream  below,  not  five  feet  from 
where  Katie  was  lying,  on  the  pile  of  debris  on  which 
she  had  fallen. 

Where  Manning  touched  the  bed  of  the  creek 
there  was  a  pool  with  a  depth  of  eighteen  or  twenty 
inches,  and  here  he  pinioned  the  animal  as  if  in  a 
trough  but  little  wider  than  its  body,  till  its  struggling 
ceased  and  its  limbs  were  relaxed  in  death.  He 
dragged  himself  from  the  water,  and  sank  down  ex 
hausted  and  unconscious.  And  there  these  two  lay, 
thus  strangely  introduced,  till  Henry  Anderson  found 
them,  and,  with  the  help  of  Jehu  Murphy,  carried  them 
to  his  house. 

Henry  Anderson  was  at  work  half  a  mile  south  of 
the  house  when  these  events  occurred.  He  knew 
nothing  of  Katie's  peril  or  of  Manning's  terrible  strug 
gle  till  the  danger  was  over.  He  saw  the  horses  run 
ning  off,  and  hurried  to  the  road  to  intercept  them  in 
their  flight.  The  buggy  had  been  utterly  demolished 
and  the  fragments  strewn  along  the  roadway.  As 
Henry  Anderson  confronted  the  horses,  they  sprang 
aside  from  the  road  into  a  large  hedge  fence,  and  stood 
there  panting  and  trembling,  with  dilated  nostrils  and 
flashing  eyes.  Henry  Anderson  spoke  to  them  re 
assuringly,  and  the  poor  brutes,  seeming  at  once  to  re 
gard  him  as  a  protector,  made  no  further  effort  at  run 
ning.  He  continued  to  speak  to  them  kindly  and  firm 
ly,  and  finally  was  able,  with  only  an  occasional  mani 
festation  of  fright  on  their  part,  to  lead  them  towards 
his  house.  They  had  received  some  scratches  and 
bruises,  but  fortunately  were  otherwise  uninjured. 


64  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

Henry  Anderson  asked  himself  what  had  become 
of  the  driver.  This  was  a  livery  team — he  knew  that 
— and  the  driver,  whoever  he  was,  might  be  dead  or 
seriously  injured.  He  could  see  part  of  the  buggy 
just  south  of  the  bridge,  and  thought  the  accident  must 
have  occurred  there.  Having  reached  the  house,  he 
tied  the  horses  to  the  fence  in  front,  and  called  aloud  to 
Katie.  There  was  no  answer.  Again  he  called,  louder 
than  before.  Still  no  answer.  ' '  What  has  become  of 
the  child?"  he  asked  himself,  and  then,  without  paus 
ing  longer,  hurried  away  to  the  bridge. 

Yes,  the  horses  had  commenced  to  run  just  south  of 
the  bridge.  He  saw  marks  showing  where  the  buggy  had 
been  cramped  out  of  the  beaten  track.  The  horses 
must  have  shied,  and  some  part  of  the  buggy  must 
have  given  way.  But  what  strange  appearance  was 
this  on  the  ground,  beginning  a  few  feet  from  where 
the  accident  occurred,  and  continuing  to  the  bank  of 
the  creek  ?  It  appeared  as  if  some  animal  had  been 
rolling  or  some  heavy  body  had  been  dragged  along 
there.  He  walked  to  the  creek  and  looked  down. 
What  a  spectacle  greeted  his  sight!  His  beloved 
daughter  lying  like  a  stone,  with  her  feet  in  the  wave 
and  her  head  upon  the  brush  !  And  William  Manning 
lying  near  her  side  !  Was  she  dead  ?  O  God  !  Was 
Katie  dead  ?  Poor,  selfish,  fatherly  heart !  He  had 
not  a  thought  for  William  Manning.  He  cried  aloud 
for  help — once,  twice,  thrice — and  sprang  down  the 
bank,  and  seized  his  daughter  and  lifted  her  up  in  his 
arms.  She  was  unconscious,  but  not  dead.  Finding  a 
gentle  acclivity,  he  bore  her  up  and  away  to  the  house. 

Mr.  Murphy,  who  at  this  time  happened  to  come 
along  from  the  south,  left  his  wagon,  and  assisted  Mr. 
Anderson  in  his  efforts  to  restore  Katie  to  conscious 
ness.  Not  unsuccessfully — for  in  a  tew  minutes,  by  the 
use  of  camphor  and  water  and  by  persistent  rubbing, 
she  was  aroused  from  her  swoon.  As  she  opened  her 
eyes,  and  the  recollection  of  what  had  passed  slowly 
dawned  upon  her,  she  asked,  with  much  anxiety,  what 


A   STRANGE    INTRODUCTION.  65 

had  become  of  the  young  man.  The  father  sent  Mr. 
Murphy  to  look  after  William  Manning,  promising  to 
join  him  presently  and  assist  in  bringing  the  youth  to 
the  house. 

With  returning  consciousness,  Katie  began  to  suffer 
excruciating  pain.  The  fact  was  soon  ascertained  that 
she  had  fallen  upon  her  left  foot — she  must  have  turned 
in  her  fall — and  that  her  left  ankle  was  seriously 
sprained,  even  if  there  was  no  dislocation  or  broken 
bone.  But  she  bore  her  suffering  with  becoming  for 
titude,  and  bade  her  father  assist  Mr.  Murphy  in  look 
ing  after  the  brave  young  gentleman  who  had  saved 
her  life  at  the  imminent  peril,  perhaps  at  the  price,  of 
his  own. 

The  two  men  lifted  the  insensible  youth  in  their 
arms ;  but  before  they  reached  the  house  he  had  re 
vived.  At  the  gate  he  was  put  upon  his  feet,  and  he 
walked  to  the  house  with  but  little  assistance.  He  was 
badly  bruised,  but  had  suffered  no  serious  injury  other 
wise. 

He  washed  his  hands,  neck  and  face  thoroughly, 
and  then  changed  his  clothes,  putting  on  a  suit  bor 
rowed  of  Mr.  Anderson,  and  consigning  his  own  clothes 
to  the  flames.  Mr.  Murphy  was  dispatched  for  Dr. 
Harmon,  and  for  Mrs.  Anderson  and  James. 

William  Manning  gave  a  detailed  account  ot  what 
had  happened,  and  repeated  the  story  to  Katie's  mother 
and  brother  when  they  arrived,  and,  having  recovered  suf 
ficiently  for  that  purpose,  mounted  one  of  the  frightened 
horses,  and  leading  the  other,  returned  to  Wellington. 

Before  he  left  he  was  called  to  Katie's  bedside, 
where  Dr.  Harmon  was  just  assuring  the  family  that 
Katie's  injurie^  were  not  dangerous,  though  likely  to 
cause  her  severe  pain  and  much  annoyance  for  some 
time  to  come.  There  were  no  broken  bones ;  but  her 
ankle  was  badly  sprained.  It  might  be  weeks,  possibly 
months,  before  she  would  be  able  to  use  it  to  any  great 
extent  in  walking.  At  any  rate,  rest  and  quiet  were 
now  demanded.  She  must  not  use  her  left  foot  in  any 


66  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

manner  whatsoever  for  the  present,  if  she  desired  a 
permanent  and  early  recovery. 

Katie  put  forth  her  soft  white  hand,  for  it  was  soft 
and  white,  a  beautiful  hand,  such  as  her  mother's  had 
been  when  she  was  of  Katie's  age,  and  as  William 
Manning  took  the  trembling  fingers  into  his  own  large, 
strong,  warm  palm,  she  thanked  him,  with  tears  in  her 
eyes,  for  what  he  had  done  and  risked  for  her,  and  said 
she  would  never  forget  him,  but  would  think  of  him 
ever  with  feelings  of  admiration  and  gratitude.  Per 
haps  the  young  man  held  her  hand  longer  than  was 
necessary,  but  she  made  no  effort  to  withdraw  it, 
thinking  he  had  earned  the  right  to  hold  her  hand,  for 
once,  as  long  as  he  pleased. 

With  what  earnest  words,  with  what  tearful  eyes, 
with  what  warm,  prolonged  grasp  of  the  hand,  did 
Katie's  parents  and  brother  thank  William  Manning 
for  what  he  had  done  !  How  his  heart  expanded  with 
happiness  as  he  left  the  house  ! 

Mr.  Anderson  followed  him  to  the  gate,  seemingly 
to  carry  a  saddle  for  him,  but  really  to  tell  him  that  he 
would  pay  all  damages  for  injuries  to  horses  and  buggy. 
And  as  the  young  man  rode  away,  Henry  Anderson 
said  to  himself:  "Yes,  I  will  pay  every  cent.  God 
bless  the  noble  boy !  What  are  farms  and  treasures 
as  compared  with  my  darling  girl  ?  And  he  has  saved 
her  from  the  most  dreadful  of  fates!" 

And  thus  it  was  that  William  Manning  and  Katie 
Anderson  had  their  meeting  and  introduction. 


CHAPTER  V. 

CANDIDATES    FOR    OFFICE. 

On  a  gloomy  April  morning  in  1870,  when  the 
train  paused  at  the  depot  in  Wellington,  a  tall,  robust 
youth,  about  twenty-one  or  twenty-two  years  of  age, 
descended  from  the  ladies'  car  to  the  platform,  and 
inquired  the  way  to  the  business  part  of  the  city.  The 
same  day  he  entered  the  office  of  Billy  Johnson,  and 
began  the  study  of  the  law,  to  which  he  diligently 
applied  himself  for  a  period  of  two  years.  After 
wards  this  stranger,  who  gave  his  name  as  William 
Manning,  passed  a  creditable  examination,  and  was 
admitted  to  the  bar;  and  then,  having  rented  an 
office,  he  sat  down  to  wait  for  clients. 

In  this  essential  particular^Mr.  Manning's  coming 
was  like  that  of  many  others  who  had  come  before  him 
— on  one  day  he  was  not  in  Wellington,  and  on  the 
succeeding  day  he  was.  In  other  respects  his  advent 
was  involved  in  mystery.  No  one  was  able  to  learn 
whence  he  had  come,  or  what  chain  of  circumstances 
had  drawn  him  hitherward. 

It  is  sometimes  interesting  to  follow  back,  one  by 
one,  those  events  which  connect  a  man  in  his  new  life 
with  the  far  distant  scenes  of  his  old  life.  Some  relative 
or  intimate  friend  may  have  preceded  him  into  the  new 
country,  and  become  the  lodestone  to  draw  him  in  the 
same  direction.  Or,  cast  loose  from  his  moorings,  he 
may  have  been  tossed  to  and  fro  like  driftwood  on  the 
sea,  and  at  last  stranded  on  a  foreign  shore,  without 
any  apparent  reason  why  he  might  not  as  well  have 
been  stranded  somewhere  else.  In  William  Manning's 
case,  there  was  no  avowed  or  apparent  reason  for  his 
coming  to  Wellington.  He  declined  to  discourse  upon 
his  past  life.  He  refused  to  give  the  State  of  his  nativ 
ity.  His  lips  were  sealed  when  inquiries  were  made 

67 


68  A    SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

concerning  his  father  and  mother,  their  place  of  resi 
dence,  and  his  relations  "to  his  father's  family.  He 
characterized  such  inquiries  as  impertinent,  and  sent 
the  inquisitive  away  unsatisfied,  and  sometimes 
almost  angry.  The  gossips  indulged  in  all  manner  of 
speculation  and  insinuation.  But  Manning  maintained 
his  silence,  bore  patiently  the  backbitings  of  the  gos 
sips,  lived  before  the  people  of  Callitso  County  an  irre 
proachable  life,  and  pressed  steadily  on  ward  to  ward  the 
forefront  of  his  profession.  After  several  years  of  per 
sistent  effort,  all  that  the  people  had  learned  of  William 
Manning's  pre-Wellingtonian  career  was  that  he  had 
come  from  the  Empire  State. 

He  made  many  warm  friends  among  the  better 
classes  of  the  people.  They  discerned  in  him  a  youth 
of  brilliant  parts,  and,  judging  him  by  his  conduct  at 
Wellington,  they  believed  him  to  be  worthy  of  their 
confidence  and  esteem,  notwithstanding  his  reluctance 
to  lift  the  veil  which  covered  his  past  life. 

Manning  soon  learned  that  one  of  the  chief  contro 
versies  in  the  municipal  elections  at  Wellington  was  over 
the  question  of  licensing  saloons.  In  fact,  all  other  ques 
tions  were  regarded  as  of  secondary  importance,  and 
nominations  were  made  and  elections  held  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  determining  whether  Wellington,  in  the  clas 
sical  language  of  Joe  Jimson,  should  be  "  wet  or  dry" 
during  the  ensuing  year.  When  Manning  came  to  Well 
ington  an  anti-license  city  council  was  in  power.  But  it 
did  not  follow  from  this  fact  that  liquor  was  not  sold 
within  the  limits  of  the  city.  The  advocates  of  license 
were  skillful  in  devising  means  for  the  practical  nullifi 
cation  of  the  ordinances  against  liquor-selling. 

For  a  time  the  saloons  were  closed  in  front,  but 
kept  open  in  the  rear.  A  well-beaten  track  extended 
from  the  sidewalk  down  the  alley  to  the  private  en 
trance  to  each  of  these  places  of  business.  This  track 
was  never  suffered  to  become  overrun  with  weeds. 
There  were  some  who  disliked  the  publicity  of  veering 
down  the  alley,  and  for  the  avoidance  of  scandal  on 


CANDIDATES  FOR  OFFICE.  69 

account  of  such  as  these,  a  right  of  way  was  obtained 
through  grocery  and  dry-goods  stores  adjoining  the  sa 
loons,  whereby  genteel  topers,  under  color  of  buying 
potatoes  or  thread,  might  reach  the  bar  and  enjoy  their 
daily  dram.  Prosecutions  ensued,  and  the  violators 
of  the  ordinances  were  finally  driven  to  other  expedi 
ents.  These  prosecutions  succeeded  because  some  of 
the  genteel  topers  were  men  of  honesty  and  veracity, 
and  would  not  swear  a  falsehood  even  to  defend  their 
best  friends,  the  saloon-keepers. 

When  William  Manning  became  city  attorney  he 
knew  well  enough  what  obstacles  were  in  the  way  of 
a  successful  prosecution  of  a  liquor-dealer.  He  knew 
well  enough  that  he  must  obtain  the  testimony  of  reli 
able,  responsible  men,  or  he  would  be  routed  by  the 
evasion,  hesitation,  want  of  recollection  and  downright 
perjury  of  his  witnesses.  So  he  selected  a  loafing- 
place  on  a  dry-goods  box  in  front  of  one  of  the  leading 
stores  of  the  city,  near  which  was  the  store-room  of 
one  of  the  suspected  citizens.  Seated  here  day  after 
day,  whittling  a  stick,  but  keeping  a  sharp  lookout 
through  the  store,  the  front  and  rear  doors  of  which 
were  wide  open  during  this  hot  weather,  he  beheld  one 
of  the  leading  members  of  one  of  the  churches  pass 
along  in  the  rear  of  the  dry-goods  store  in  the  direction 
of  the  suspected  house,  and  then  after  the  lapse  of  a 
reasonable  time  return  over  the  same  route  to  his  own 
store.  This  mysterious  journey  was  accomplished 
from  one  to  three  times  a  day.  A  prosecution  was  be 
gun  against  the  suspected  party,  and  the  traveler  who 
made  these  mysterious  journeys,  and  who  may  be  called 
Brown  as  well  as  not,  was  subpoenaed.  Brown  called 
on  the  city  attorney. 

"  What  have  you  subpoenaed  me  for?"  he  cried, 
savagely.  "This  is  a  dastardly  outrage." 

"I  want  to  hear  you  testify." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  the  case,  and  you  know  it. 
You  want  to  break  me  down — to  humiliate  me  and 
break  me  down.  I  won't  stand  it!" 


7O  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"Won't  stand  what?" 

"  I  won't  stand  such  treatment.  Why  don't  you 
subpoena  Joe  Jimson  —  somebody  who  frequents  sa 
loons  ?  You  know  well  enough  you  can  *t  prove  any 
thing  by  me."  * 

41 1  propose  to  hear  you  say  that  under  oath.  " 

"You  doubt  my  word,  do  you?  I  tell  you  now  I 
know  nothing  about  the  case,  and  I  won't  be  here. 
I  have  to  go  out  to  my  farm  on  the  day  this  case  is  set 
for  trial,  to  look  after  my  harvesting." 

4 'Postpone  your  trip  till  the  next  day." 

"  I  can  't  do  it — I  must  go,  and  I  will  go." 

"Then  I  '11  have  you  attached." 

"Attach,  if  you  want  to!  I  'd  rather  pay  a  fine  than 
neglect  my  business.  I  can  't  be  here;  and  if  you  will 
attach,  I  suppose  I  '11  have  to  pay  my  fine.  That's  all." 

"  No,  not  all,  my  friend.  I'll  get  the  case  contin 
ued  till  the  officer  brings  you  into  court  on  the  attach 
ment  writ.  I  propose  to  hear  what  you  have  to  say 
under  oath." 

Brown  turned  on  his  heel  and  vanished  ;  and  as  he 
vanished,  the  city  attorney  heard  something  like  the 
word  "  Jehoshaphat, "  or  thought  he  heard  it. 
44  Brown  will  tell  the  truth  when  under  oath,"  thought 
the  city  attorney,  "and  for  this  reason  will  be  worth  a 
car-load  of  Jimsons.  That's  where  your  church-mem 
ber  beats  an  ordinary  toper  as  a  witness  in  a  whisky 
suit." 

That  afternoon  Brown  and  the  defendant  held  a 
confidential  conversation  in  a  private  place;  and  within 
thirty  minutes  after  their  separation  the  defendant  plead 
guilty  and  was  fined  to  the  full  extent  of  the  jurisdic 
tion  of  a  justice  of  the  peace.  With  this  suit  as  a  prec 
edent,  conviction  upon  conviction  followed,  and  the 
rear  doors  of  the  saloons  were  soon  closed. 

These  prosecutions  took  place  in  the  summer  of 
1873,  and  resulted  satisfactorily  to  the  Mayor  and 
aldermen,  who  had  hesitatingly  appointed  Mr.  Man 
ning  city  attorney  during  the  preceding  spring. 


CANDIDATES    FOR    OFFICE.  /I 

Manning,  from  his  early  training,  and  for  other 
reasons,  which  will  appear  in  subsequent  pages,  was 
bitterly  opposed  to  the  saloon  power.  He  was  consci 
entious  to  a  fault.  Having  been  entrusted  with  what 
appeared  to  him  a  most  responsible  office,  and  having 
taken  an  oath  to  discharge  faithfully  the  duties  of  that 
office,  he  determined  that  he  would  prosecute  fearlessly 
for  every  violation  of  the  ordinances  coming  to  his  no 
tice,  without  any  regard  to  the  effect  upon  himself, 
politically  or  otherwise.  After  he  had  succeeded  in 
closing  the  back  doors  of  the  saloons,  he  thought  the 
hardest  part  of  his  labor  was  over.  In  this  he  was 
mistaken.  He  had  hardly  b^gun.  The  ingenuity  of 
the  mind  in  devising  evasions  of  the  law  prohibiting 
the  liquor  traffic  is  one  of  the  seven  wonders  of  the 
modern  world. 

There  were  several  drugstores  in  Wellington.  The 
demand  for  soda  and  mineral  water  suddenly  became 
extraordinary.  It  was  astonishing  how  this  city,  which 
had  heretofore  been  regarded  as  a  healthful  place  in 
which  to  live,  became  the  center  of  all  kinds  of  acute  and 
chronic  diseases.  Men  who  had  had  good  complexions 
and  excellent  appetites,  who  had  always  been  able  to 
take  in  a  supply  of  several  pints  of  coffee,  cucumbers, 
pork  and  beans  without  any  discomfort  in  the  region  of 
the  stomach,  suddenly  became  afflicted  so  seriously  with 
irregularities  and  disorders  as  to  require  the  frequent  use 
of  mineral  water  to  assist  the  halting  processes  of  nature. 

Some  of  the  politicians  insist  that  where  there  is  a 
demand  there  will  always  be  a  supply.  In  this  in 
stance  every  druggist,  save  one,  proceeded  to  purchase 
a  magnificent  soda  fount  at  an  outlay  of  several  hun 
dred  dollars,  that  he  might  assist  in  staying  the  ravages 
of  disease  in  the  community,  and,  with  such  a  harm 
less  restorative  as  carbonic  acid  gas,  save  the  lives  of 
his  friends  and  neighbors.  The  soda  fount  seemed  to 
be  a  better  investment  than  a  bank. 

After  a  while  it  began  to  be  whispered  about  the 
city  that  these  men  who  professed  to  be  so  desperately 


72  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

sick  were  not  sick  at  all,  but  that  soda  fount  was  only 
another  name  for  saloon.  It  was  said  that  Joe  Jimson 
dropped  a  stick  of  wood  on  his  little  toe,  and  forthwith 
limped  away  to  the  drugstore  for  a  drink  of  mineral 
water  to  prevent  inflammation  from  setting  in.  Brown 
sprained  his  back  while  endeavoring  to  lift  a  barrel  of 
molasses,  and  immediately  afterwards  hastened  to  a 
soda  fount  and  called  for  soda  water  to  take  the  Sore 
ness  out  of  his  back ;  and  having  been  asked  what  fla 
vor  he  preferred,  winked  his  left  eye  which  was  next  to 
the  wall,  and  said  he  would  take  some  of  the  brown. 
Decanter  and  Flask,  Trinkenviellager  and  Sawtheaire, 
all  patronized  the  fount,  and  professed  to  be  greatly 
benefited  by  its  curative  and  invigorating  properties. 

That  these  druggists,  who  had  been  dealing  out  this 
sweetened  froth  or  iron  water  to '  the  suffering  sons  of 
men,  should  be  prosecuted  for  violating  the  ordinances 
against  the  sale  of  intoxicants,  seems  incredible.  And 
yet  such  prosecutions  were  instituted  ;  and  these  law- 
abiding  gentlemen,  with  the  spirit  of  heroism  and  mar 
tyrdom  glowing  in  their  well-fed  and  well-clothed 
bodies,  protesting  their  innocence  all  the  while,  and 
insisting  that  the  prosecutions  were  instituted  by 
malicious  enemies,  without  any  foundation  in  fact  to  rest 
upon,  tripped  quietly,  very  quietly  and  gentlemanly, 
into  the  police  magistrate's  office,  plead  guilty  as  a  mat 
ter  of  form,  of  course,  and  paid  their  fines  out  of  strutted 
pocket-books,  and  then  tripped  out  again  and  back  to 
their  sanitariums,  where  stood  a  "great  multitude  of 
impotent  folk, "  waiting  for  the  troubling  of  the  fount. 

But  the  envious  and  malicious  city  attorney  contin 
ued  to  prosecute  the  druggists,  and  the  druggists  con 
tinued  to  pay  fines,  till  the  fountains  were  dried  up, 
and  ceased  to  give  forth  their  amber-colored  nectar ; 
whereupon  several  fountains  were  advertised  for  sale, 
the  epidemic  passed  on  to  the  next  city,  the  health  of 
the  people  was  restored,  Jimson  resorted  to  salve  for 
his  bruised  toe,  and  Brown  stuck  a  porous  plaster  upon 
his  sprained  back. 


CANDIDATES    FOR    OFFICE.  73 

Messrs.  Squabble,  Wriggle  and  Dabble,  men  of  great 
skill  in  the  legal  profession,  now  suggested  an  infallible 
way,  in  their  learned  judgment,  for  the  overthrow  of 
the  ordinances  in  the  interests  of  the  great  cause  of 
liberty.  Let  clubs  be  formed.  Let  a  certain  number 
of  topers  band  themselves  together,  rent  a  room,  keep 
there  such  drinks  as  they  might  desire,  and  hire  a 
saloon-keeper  to  take  charge  of  the  room  and  their 
property  for  them.  Let  every  member  of  this  frater 
nity  pay  so  much  money  and  obtain  so  many  tickets. 
If  he  should  want  to  drink,  let  him  step  in,  lay  down  a 
ticket,  receive  the  one  thing  needful,  drink  it  and  re 
tire.  In  this  way  it  was  hoped  the  ordinances  might 
be  defeated?  although  they  provided  expressly  that  no 
trick,  sham  or  device  should  be  permitted  to  defeat 
their  operation. 

Several  of  these  clubs  were  organized  during  the 
winter  of  1873-4,  and  were  under  full  headway  in  the  en 
suing  Spring,  when  William  Manning  received  his  second 
appointment  as  city  attorney.  He  filed  complaints  im 
mediately  against  the  superintendent  of  every  club,  and 
also  against  some  of  their  most  prominent  members  and 
patrons.  Forthwith  there  was  a  mighty  fermentation. 
A  meeting  of  the  friends  of  liberty  was  called,  a  mon 
ster  indignation  meeting  to  be  held  at  the  court-house 
for  the  denunciation  of  the  unwarrantable  acts  and  usur 
pations  of  the  city  attorney.  When  the  hour  for 
opening  the  meeting  arrived,  there  was  not  an  inch  of 
available  space  left  in  the  court-room.  No  ladies  were 
present,  it  is  true ;  but  many  of  them  were,  to  their 
sorrow,  represented  by  a  husband,  father,  brother  or 
son. 

Herr  Trinkenviellager  was  called  to  the  chair,  and 
expressed  his  thanks  for  the  great  honor  which  had 
been  conferred  upon  him  by  this  unexpected  call  to  act 
as  the  presiding  officer  of  this  august  and  intelligent 
body  of  liberty  loving  citizens.  He  said  that,  in  his 
youth,  from  the  other  side  of  the  great  ocean,  he  had 
looked  with  longing  eyes  to  America  as  the  land  of 


74  A    SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave  ;  that  he  had  come 
here,  on  reaching  the  estate  of  manhood,  in  the  hope 
of  being  permitted  to  worship  King  Alcohol  according 
to  the  dictates  of  his  own  stomach.  But  how  sadly 
had  he  been  disappointed  !  Instead  cf  finding  here  the 
home  of  liberty,  he  had  found  a  people  who  were 
happy  only  when  seeking  to  wrest  from  a  law-abiding 
citizen  his  natural  liberty.  He  closed  by  saying  some 
thing  must  be  done,  or  honest  foreigners  would  be 
driven  from  our  shores,  and  the  whole  country  ruined. 

Then  Timmy  Decanter  arose,  amidst  wild  applause, 
to  speak  a  word  in  behalf  of  those  who  had  come  from 
the  "  ould  sod."  It  was  indeed  touching  to  hear  him 
refer  in  these  two  simple  yet  eloquent  wprds  to  the 
land  of  his  nativity.  At  the  bare  mention  of  the  "  ould 
sod,"  Paddy  O'Whifferty  blew  his  nose,  while  Michael 
Shillaly  wept  aloud.  Timmy  Decanter  spoke  as  fol 
lows: 

"Oi  am  a  plain,  blunt  man,  bedad,  as  the  poet 
hath  said,  an'  oi  have  n't  the  gift  of  spache  ;  but  oi  came 
from  ould  Ireland,  where  we  used  to  have  the  roight  to 
eat  an'  dhrink  what  we  plazed.  An'  now,  bedad,  if  the 
loike  of  these  ordinances  can  be  inforced,  they  can 
pass  a  law  forbiddin'  a  mon  to  eat  pertaties  an'  salt,  or 
to  jine  the  howling  bond  of  matrimony."  Here  the 
speaker  flung  his  arms  into  the,  air,  and  shook  his 
fists  vigorously  at  some  imaginary  enemy,  while  the 
audience  indulged  in  tumultuous  and  deafening  ap 
plause.  When  the  uproar  had  subsided,  and  a  death 
like  silence  reigned  throughout  the  room,  the  orator, 
who  was  limping  in  words  but  vigorous  in  action, 
cracked  the  fist  of  his  right  hand  into  the  palm  of  the 
left  by  way  of  additional  emphasis  to  the  words  already 
uttered.  First  there  followed  a  buzzing  sound  not  un 
like  that  issuing  from  a  nest  of  bumble-bees  when  dis 
turbed  with  a  cane ;  then  there  followed  a  crescendo  of 
voices,  then  uproarious  applause,  then  a  diminuendo, 
then  the  silence  of  death.  The  orator  found  voice 
again.  "Down  with  the  tyrants,  says  oi!"  he  yelled. 


CANDIDATES    FOR    OFFICE.  /J 

"If  the  loike  of  this  goes  on,  Ameriky  is  ruined,  be- 
dad !"  Another  storm  of  applause  rolled  heavenward, 
as  the  champion  of  liberty  resumed  his  seat.  Many 
other  speeches  were  made.  Great  enthusiasm  was  mani 
fested.  Then  resolutions  were  introduced  and  adopted, 
condemning  the  course  of  the  city  attorney,  alleging 
that  it  was  in  opposition  to  the  wishes  of  the  people, 
and  an  effort  to  interfere  with  private  rights,  and  an 
nouncing  a  determination  to  fight  the  pending  suits, 
and  all  others  that  might  be  commenced,  through  the 
courts,  even  to  the  highest  tribunal. 

But  William  Manning  did  not  relax  his  hold.  Un- 
terrified  by  the  thunderbolts  of  the  indignation  meet 
ing,  and  supported  by  the  city  council,  he  brought  one 
of  the  offenders  to  a  speedy  trial.  The  defendant, 
relying  on  his  constitutional  rights,  demanded  a  jury. 
The  constable  was  sent  out  to  separate  the  sheep  from 
the  goats,  and  summon  six  men  having  the  qualifications 
of  jurors.  He  discharged  the  high  functions  of  his 
high  office  with  remarkable  fidelity.  He  separated 
the  sheep  from  the  goats,  and  proceeded  to  choose  six 
goats  for  jurors.  Colonel  Mansfield  happened  to  be 
standing  in  front  of  his  store,  but  the  constable  passed 
him  by,  and  sought  a  group  of  men  who  were  congre 
gated  around  an  empty  box  at  the  edge  of  the  sidewalk 
some  distance  farther  on.  Billy  Decanter,  a  brother  of 
the  alderman,  and  Toddle,  a  worthless  rake,  were  cho 
sen  from  this  group.  Three  more  were  summoned  in 
the  club-rooms.  The  sixth  man  was  one  of  those 
accommodating  gentlemen  who  have  no  convictions,  and 
will  sign  any  kind  of  a  verdict  that  may  be  agreed  upon 
by  the  others,  and  are  elevated  to  the  jury-box  for 
chinking.  One  by  one  these  loyal  men  filed  into  the 
justice's  office  and  took  the  bench  provided  for  them. 
Manning  exercised  his  right  of  challenge  to  the  best 
possible  advantage.  But  the  friends  of  the  defendant 
were  out  in  full  force,  and  every  talesman  called  to  take 
the  place  of  a  challenged  juror  was  as  bad  as  his  pre 
decessor.  The  result  of  the  trial  was  an  acquittal. 


?  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

Great  was  the  jubilation  of  the  saloon  party,  and  great 
the  consternation  of  the  temperance  people. 

Another  case  was  taken  up  for  trial.  The  city  at 
torney  succeeded  in  having  the  venire  served  by  another 
constable,  who  brought  upright  men  into  the  jury-box. 
This  time  the  goats  were  wholly  ignored.  After  a  long 
and  hotly  contested  trial  the  defendant  was  convicted 
and  fined.  Both  cases  were  appealed  to  the  Circuit 
Court,  where  Judge  Snapper  pronounced  the  club  a 
trick,  sham  and  device  to  evade  the  provisions  of  the 
ordinances.  As  a  consequence  of  this  ruling  the 
defendants  were  convicted  in  the  Circuit  Court.  The 
clubs  were  broken  up.  The  members  of  the  clubs  had 
relied  on  Judge  Snapper  as  a  friend  of  their  organiza 
tions,  because  the  Judge  was  himself  a  patron  of  the 
bowl,  and  were  utterly  disheartened  by  his  rulings 
against  them  and  the  severity  of  the  fines  imposed 
under  his  firm  administration  of  the  law.  Messrs. 
Squabble,  Wriggle  and  Dabble  cursed  the  Judge  in  the 
sanctity  of  their  office,  and  "talked  Supreme  Court," 
and  then  subsided,  and  advised  the  clubs  to  disorganize. 

In  his  career  as  city  attorney,  William  Manning  had 
acquired  an  enviable  reputation  for  so  young  a  man. 
The  prosecutions  had  been  conducted  with  vigor  and 
ability,  and  yet  without  rancor,  or  other  improper  feel 
ing.  He  had  won  the  applause  of  every  outspoken, 
uncompromising  foe  of  the  liquor  traffic.  He  had  won 
the  admiration  of  that  portion  of  the  community  who 
were  usually  indifferent  to  the  enforcement  of  these  or 
dinances,  and  were  yet  temperance  men  themselves. 
He  had  incurred  the  lasting  ill  will,  the  undying  hatred 
of  the  avowed  champions  and  the  secret  friends  of  the 
saloons. 

In  the  spring  of  1875,  however,  the  license  ticket 
was  elected,  and  five  saloons  were  licensed  in  Welling 
ton.  Thereupon  Manning's  tenure  of  office  ceased, 
and  his  mantle  fell  upon  Lyman  Sawtheaire,  another 
of  the  young  attorneys  of  Wellington.  This  gentleman 
boasted  that  he  was  a  warm  advocate  of  temperance, 


CANDIDATES    FOR    OFFICE.  "JJ 

using  the  word  doubtless  with  many  qualifications,  and 
refining  its  meaning  down  to  a  very  subtle  essence. 
The  present  city  council  were  in  search  of  an  advocate 
of  temperance,  for  they  were  advocates  of  temperance 
themselves.  They  begged  the  people  to  take  notice 
that  they  were  elected  on  the  "citizens'  ticket,"  and 
were  opposed  to  drunkenness.  For  these  reasons  they 
appointed  Lyman  Sawtheaire  city  attorney. 

But  nothwithstanding  Attorney  Sawtheaire's  preten 
sions,  no  man  during  his  incumbency  in  office  was  prose 
cuted  for  violations  of  the  ordinances  prohibiting  the 
sale  of  liquors  to  minors  and  habitual  drunkards.  And 
yet  it  was  well  known  that  these  ordinances  were  vio 
lated  daily  by  the  saloons.  Some  men,  contrasting  the 
career  of  the  late  and  the  present  city  attorney,  were  so 
uncharitable  as  to  say,  "By  their  fruits  shall  ye  know 
them."  To  this  it  was  answered  :  "  Sawtheaire  attends 
church  occasionally,  and  unites  with  the  congregation  in 
singing  the  songs  of  Zion.  He  drops  his  mite  into  the 
contribution-box.  He  teaches  a  class  in  one  of  the  Sun 
day-schools.  He  has  a  godly  look.  And  besides,  he 
made  a  beautiful  temperance  speech  one  Sunday  after 
noon,  under  the  auspices  of  the  Good  Templars,  setting 
forth  in  burning  words  the  horrors  of  the  drunkard's 
death-bed.  And  as  for  William  Manning,  he  has  never 
been  known  to  make  a  temperance  speech." 

Thus  were  the  people  divided.  But  whether  they 
stood  on  Manning's  side  or  on  Sawtheaire's  side,  they 
were  all  in  favor  of  temperance.  Even  the  saloon 
keepers  believed  in  temperance,  and  exhorted  their 
fellow-creatures  to  drink  with  moderation. 

Now  it  so  happened  that  Manning  and  Sawtheaire 
were  of  the  same  political  faith,  and  that  their  party 
was  in  the  ascendency  in  Callitso  County,  so  that  its 
nominees  stood  in  very  little  danger  of  defeat  at  the 
polls.  In  the  Fall  of  1876  there  was  to  be  an  election 
of  president  and  governor.  Certain  county  officers 
were  also  to  be  elected,  among  them  the  circuit  clerk 
and  State's  attorney  for  Callitso  County.  The  latter 


78  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

is  no  mean  office  in  the  eyes  of  the  young  lawyer. 
Besides  the  fees  and  salary  of  the  office,  the  position 
lifts  the  incumbent  out  of  obscurity,  and  enables  him 
to  show  the  people  what  his  ability  is  for  the  practice 
of  his  profession.  If  he  makes  a  successful  prosecutor, 
the  position  brings  him  a  paying  civil  business. 

As  early  as  the  Fall  of  1875,  Lyman  Sawtheaire 
and  William  Manning  had  determined  to  be  candidates 
for  the  nomination  for  State's  attorney  before  the  con 
vention  of  their  party,  to  be  held  during  the  ensuing 
Summer.  During  the  Fall  and  Winter  both  of  the 
young  men  gave  the  public  many  intimations  of  their 
candidacy.  A  marked  affability  and  politeness  on  their 
part  towards  the  people  generally  was  observable. 
They  showed  especial  deference  towards  the  recognized 
leaders  of  their  party,  lifting  their  hats  to  them  in 
passing,  and  feeding  their  children  with  peanuts  and 
popcorn.  One  conversant  with  such  affairs  could  not 
fail  to  ascertain  their  disease,  even  by  a  hasty  diagnosis. 

It  was  on  a  bright,  cold  day  in  February  when 
Lyman  Sawtheaire  was  seated  in  his  office,  with  a  pipe 
in  his  mouth  and  his  feet  on  a  table,  thinking  industri 
ously  about  his  chances  for  the  nomination. 

"  I  must  see  Henry  Anderson  at  once,"  he  thought. 
' '  Delay  may  be  fatal.  But  I  do  n't  know  exactly  how  to 
reach  him.  I  've  endeavored  to  approach  him  once  or 
twice  already  on  this  subject,  but  with  some  statement 
about  neutrality  he  has  thrust  me  off.  The  first  thing 
I  know  he  will  be  pledged  to  Manning.  Manning  has 
the  inside  track  on  me  with  Henry  Anderson  since  the 
mad-dog  episode.  And  then  I  have  to  fight  the  ad 
verse  influence  of  Cranky  Bess.  Blast  the  luck !  It 
does  seem  as  if  all  nature  was  against  me.  I  won't  say 
Providence.  Hang  Providence  !  I  do  n't  believe  in  any 
such  nonsense,  though  as  a  teacher  in  the  Sunday- 
school,  etc.,  I  have  to  smother  down  my  real  belief, 
or  rather,  disbelief.  No,  it  isn't  Providence  ;  it  is  luck 
that  is  against  me. "  He  paused  for  a  moment,  knocked 
the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  refilled  and  relighted  it,  and 


CANDIDATES    FOR    OFFICE.  79 

then  resumed  his  meditations.  Presently  he  laid  down 
his  pipe  and  began  to  walk  thoughtfully  up  and  down 
the  room.  He  went  to  the  window,  and,  resting  one 
foot  on  the  window-sill,  looked  for  a  few  moments  in 
the  direction  of  the  court-house,  yet  without  taking 
notice  of  anything  before  him  till  Henry  Anderson 
emerged  from  the  court-house  and  walked  rapidly 
towards  the  west  side  of  the  square.  "There  he  is 
now,"  he  said  aloud.  "  I  '11  take  time  by  the  forelock, 
and  bring  him  to  terms  this  afternoon,  if  possible." 

He  went  down  the  stairway  three  steps  at  a  time, 
and  requested  Mr.  Anderson  to  allow  him  the  favor  of 
a  short  private  interview.  Mr.  Anderson  followed  the 
attorney  to  his  office,  wondering  what  could  be  the 
nature  of  this  private  business. 

"The  first  thing  I  wish  to  mention  concems  your 
own  business, "  began  Mr.  Sawtheaire.  "I  have  an 
application  for  a  loan  of  three  thousand  dollars,  to  be 
secured  by  mortgage  on  one  of  the  best  small  farms  in 
the  county,  and  thought  you  might  be  able  to  make 
the  loan.  I  told  my  client  I  would  speak  to  you 
about  it." 

Considerable  conversation  ensued  on  this  subject, 
the  result  of  which  was  that  Mr.  Anderson  declined  to 
make  the  loan,  but  thanked  his  young  friend  for  his 
interest  in  his  behalf.  This  was  as  Sawtheaire  had 
anticipated.  He  had  raised  the  question  of  the  loan 
merely  as  an  introduction  to  something  in  which  he 
was  more  deeply  interested. 

He  went  to  his  book-case,  unlocked  a  drawer  at  the 
bottom  of  the  case,  and  brought  forth  a  suspicious 
looking  bottle. 

"Mr.  Anderson,"  he  said,  "there  is  something  in 
that  bottle  which  will  remind  you  of  old  Kentucky. 
It  is  genuine  apple  brandy — the  pure  article — made  on 
Kentucky  soil,  in  a  Kentucky  still,  out  of  Kentucky 
apples,  and  is  ten  years  old,  if  a  day.  See  how  clear 
it  is.  I  consider  genuine  Kentucky  brandy  practically 
harmless.  Try  it," 


8O  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"No,  no;  excuse  me  to-day,  Mr.  Sawtheaire. 
Really,  you  must  excuse  me.  But  I  have  some  curi 
osity  to  know  where  you  got  genuine  Kentucky 
brandy.  Everything  sold  about  here  now-a-days  is 
adulterated. " 

"I  am  not  well,  Mr.  Anderson.  I  may  seem 
rugged,  and  some  of  my  friends  say  they  never  saw 
me  look  better.  But  one  of  my  grandpa:  ents  on  my 
father's  side  was  troubled  for  years  with  a  very  severe 
cough,  and  I  have  lately  been  annoyed  in  the  same 
way.  I  fear  it  has  been  transmitted  to  me  from  my 
ancestors."  Here  Mr.  Sawtheaire  coughed  violently. 
"I  was  advised  by  my  physician  to  send  to  Kentucky 
for  some  apple  brandy,  and  use  a  little  of  it  occasionally 
for  my  cough.  So  I  sent  to  a  friend  of  mine  who  lives 
at  Danville  a  statement  of  my  case  and  what  I  wanted, 
and  he  sent  me  two  gallons  of  this  article,  assuring  me 
that  there  is  not  an  atom  of  any  adulterating  substance 
in  it.  You  can  tell  by  the  appearance  that  it  was  never 
made  in  Illinois." 

Henry  Anderson  took  the  bottle«and  held  it  between 
him  and  the  light.  He  fingered  it  nervously. 

"It  looks  like  the  brandy  my  father  used  to  keep 
on  the  sideboard  of  the  old  home,"  he  said.  "Yes;  I 
should  say  it  was  the  pure  thing.  Why,  when  I  was  a 
boy,  Sawtheaire,  my  father  took  his  daily  dram,  and 
was  none  the  worse  off  for  it." 

"  Taste  it,  Mr.  Anderson.  I  dare  say  you  have  n't 
tasted  as  pure  an  article  for  many  a  day." 

Mr.  Anderson  drew  the  cork  and  touched  the  cork 
to  his  lips.  Then  with  a  thoughtful,  wistful  look  he 
tasted  the  cork  again.  But  there  was  so  little  of 
the  liquid  on  the  cork  that  no  man  could  form  a  cor 
rect  idea  of  the  excellence  of  the  article  by  licking  the 
cork ;  and  for  this  reason  Henry  Anderson  turned  up 
the  bottle  and  swallowed  what 'might  be  called  a  "mod 
erate  dram."  He  set  the  bottle  down  on  the  table, 
and  remarked  that  it  was  the  best  brandy  he  had  tasted 
since  he  had  left  the  State  of  his  nativity. 


CANDIDATES    FOR    OFFICE.  8 1 

Mr.  Sawtheaire  now  fell  into  a  violent  fit  of  cough 
ing,  which  necessitated  his  reluctant  resort  to  the 
brandy  bottle.  Considerably  relieved,  he  addressed 
Mr.  Anderson  on  the  subject  of  the  approaching  po 
litical  contest. 

"Mr.  Anderson,  it  seems  that  in  the  sale  of  your 
farm  to  Mr.  Sloan  you  considered  that  I  had  rendered 
you  a  service.  It  was  but  a  trifling  service,  hardly 
worth  mentioning,  and  yet  I  know  you  seemed  to  make 
much  of  it,  for  you  said  for  me  not  to  hesitate  to  call 
upon  you  if  ever  you  could  do  me  a  favor.  I  remember 
full  well  the  warm-hearted  manner  in  which  you  spoke. 
I  thought  at  the  time  how  characteristic  it  was  of  you 
Kentuckians  to  do  everything  with  a  will,  and  to  render 
a  service  from  the  bottom  of  the  heart.  Well,  the 
time  has  come  when  I  need  your  help.  I  believe  you 
said  you  would  do  anything  you  could  for  me." 

"Yes,"  assented  Mr.  Anderson,  wondering  what 
was  coming  next. 

"Of  course,  I  understand  your  offer  as  limited  to 
what  was  proper  and  honorable,  and  harmful  to  neither 
yourself  nor  family." 

"Certainly." 

"I  would  not  have  it  otherwise,"  said  this  noble- 
spirited  youth.  "  I  would  not  have  it  otherwise.  Far 
be  it  from  me  to  ask  a  cherished  friend  to  help  me  by 
hurting  himself!  I  have  too  high  a  regard  for  your 
estimable  family,  as  well  as  for  yourself,  to  ask  a  favor 
which  would  prejudice  them  or  you.  I  have  thought 
of  this  matter  I  am  about  to  mention  very  seriously, 
and  can  not  see  why  I  should  hesitate  to  approach  you 
concerning  it.  It  is  well  known  to  the  bar  here  that 
your  friend  Billy  Johnson  will  not  be  a  candidate  again 
for  the  office  of  State's  attorney." 

"I'm  sure  I  know  nothing  about  that.  He  has 
never  mentioned  the  question  to  me." 

A  beam  of  light  had  entered  Mr.  Anderson's  mind. 

"Well,  that  is  true  beyond  doubt.  The  fact  is,  J 
have  it  from  his  own  mouth.  If  he  had  been  a  candi- 


82  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY 

date  I  would  not  have  thought  it  proper  for  me  to 
solicit  your  help.  You  are  old  friends,  and  Mr.  John 
son  is  an  excellent  man,  and  I  would  have  expected 
you  to  support  him.  But  as  it  is,  with  Mr.  Johnson 
not  in  the  field,  I  trust  there  is  nothing  in  the  way  to 
prevent  you  from  supporting  me." 

"I  suppose  there  will  be  other  candidates?"  in 
quired  Mr.  Anderson. 

"Oh,  yes,"  admitted  Mr.  Sawtheaire.  "One 
other  candidate,  I  believe,  and  only  one  —  Mr.  Man 
ning.  But  I  think  I  have  some  claims  on  the  party 
which  ought  to  give  me  the  preference.  You  know, 
Mr.  Anderson,  that  I  have  worked  hard  for  the  party, 
have  spent  my  own  money,  and  given  my  time  to  our 
success  in  every  campaign  since  I  have  been  here. 
Ask  Mayor  Trinkenviellager,  Alderman  Decanter,  Joe 
Jimson ;  in  fact,  ask  any  of  the  party  leaders  who  are 
not  my  enemies,  how  the  score  stands  between  me  and 
Manning,  and  I  think  they  will  tell  you  that  I  have 
done  three  times  as  much  as  Manning  for  the  grand  old 
party.  Then  Manning  is  younger  than  I  am,  and  has  n't 
the  experience.  There  are  many  who  think  he  could 
not  be  elected  if  nominated. " 

1 '  Why  ?     What's  the  matter  with  Manning  ?  " 

"Oh,  nothing  at  all  that  justifies  men  in  kicking. 
They  say  he  has  been  very  radical  in  the  prosecution 
of  our  saloons." 

"It  seems  to  me  they  ought  to  be  prosecuted  if 
they  violate  the  law.  What  is  the  law  for?" 

"  You  and  I  agree  on  that  subject  precisely,"  said 
Mr.  Sawtheaire,  with  a  sigh.  A  severe  tickling  in  his 
throat  set  him  to  coughing  again.  He  applied  the 
same  remedy  as  before  ;  and  Mr.  Anderson,  consider 
ing  that  an  ounce  of  prevention  was  worth  a  pound  of 
cure,  and  fearing  that  he  would  have  a  tickling  in  his 
throat,  warded  off  that  direful  calamity  by  a  free  use  of 
the  same  medicine.  What  was  remedy  in  one  case  was 
preventive  in  the  other.  "  You  and  I  agree  precisely 
on  that  subject,"  resumed  the  attorney.  "What  is 


CANDIDATES    FOR    OFFICE.  83 

the  law  for  ?  A  pertinent  inquiry,  worthy  of  the  good, 
hard  sense  of  Henry  Anderson.  If  a  man  violates  the 
law,  let  him  suffer  the  consequences.  But  we  must 
take  men  as  we  find  them — in  politics,  especially.  All 
men  do  not  see  as  we  do.  Some  of  our  voters  are 
down  on  Manning  because  of  his  prosecution  of  the 
saloons.  They  say  they  will  never  vote  for  him.  They 
avow  that  if  he  is  nominated  they  will  rout  him  at  the 
polls.  And  they  will  do  it,  I  tell  you.  They  mean 
what  they  say.  Manning  can  not  be  elected." 

"  I  do  not  agree  with  you,"  said  Mr.  Anderson. 
"  I  do  n't  believe  our  party  is  so  corrupt  as  to  beat  a 
man  because  he  has  been  brave  enough  to  do  his  duty." 

"  You  may  call  it  what  you  please,"  returned  Saw- 
theaire.  "They  will  beat  him  if  he  is  nominated. 
Is  n't  it  a  matter  of  policy  to  nominate  a  man  who  can 
carry  the  strength  of  his  party  at  the  polls  ?  Now  I  am 
a  temperance  man,  Mr.  Anderson.  Yet  I  think  I  can 
say  without  self-praise  that  I  have  had  sense  enough 
not  to  make  enemies  of  those  who  differ  from  me  on 
this  question.  Mr.  Anderson,  your  influence  would 
help  me  a  great  deal." 

''This  is  wholly  unexpected,"  said  Henry  Ander 
son,  stroking  his  beard,  glancing  shyly  at  the  brandy 
bottle,  and  wondering  when  Sawtheaire  would  have 
another  fit  of  coughing.  "I'm  sure  I  feel  friendly  to 
you  and  would  like  to  see  you  succeed.  But  I  like 
Manning,  too.  The  fact  is,  I  am  under  great  obliga 
tions  to  him.  Even  if  I  do  not  help  him,  I  dislike  to 
take  part  against  him." 

"He  can  not  take  any  exception  to  your  working 
for  me,"  pleaded  Sawtheaire.  "  I  judge  from  what  you 
have  said  that  he  has  never  approached  you  on  the 
subject." 

"No,  he  has  not,"  was  the  answer. 

"He  has  been  in  the  field,  though,  for  a  long 
time,"  said  Mr.  Sawtheaire,  insinuatingly.  Henry 
Anderson  looked  up  quickly.  ' '  But  perhaps  you 
have  n't  met  him  during  that  time." 


84  A   SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  have.  I  have  met  him  frequently.  He 
spent  an  evening  at  my  house  last  week." 

Sawtheaire  winced  a  little  under  this  information. 
"He  has  been  spending  the  evening  with  Miss  Katie, 
eh?"  he  said  to  himself.  "By  Jove!  this  waxes  inter 
esting.  I  think  I  have  been  gaining  in  her  favor — be 
lieve  I  would  be  all  right,  and  oust  Billy  Manning  out 
of  Miss  Katie's  thoughts,  if  that  devilish  crank  of  an 
Elizabeth  Oakford  would  let  us  alone  !  Well,  I  have  n't 
time  to  think  of  that  now." 

"And  has  he  never  asked  for  your  help  ?"  he  in 
quired,  aloud. 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Anderson.,  in  a  tone  of  surprise. 

"He  thinks  less  of  Henry  Anderson's  influence  than 
I  do.  I  have  tried  to  summon  up  courage  to  speak  to 
you  for  the  last  month,  and  could  not  bring  myself  to 
the  point  until  to-day.  I  would  rather  have  your  in 
fluence  in  the  southern  part  of  the  county  than  the 
influence  of  any  dozen  other  men." 

Mr.  Anderson  stroked  his  beard  complacently,  and 
looked  at  the  ceiling.  He  was  really  surprised  that 
Manning  had  not  been  more  vigilant  in  looking  after 
his  political  interests.  Sawtheaire  went  on. 

"  Among  politicians,  I  believe,  the  rule  is,  first  come, 
first  served.  Manning  can  not  take  offense  at  your 
working  for  me  because  I  have  been  the  first  to  ask 
your  help.  You  can  say  to  him  :  '  I  would  have  helped 
you  gladly  if  you  had  asked  me.  Sawtheaire  spoke  to 
me  on  the  subject,  and  I  had  no  good  reason  for  refus 
ing  him.'  Unless,  of  course,  you  intend  to  give  up 
your  prestige  as  a  politician." 

"No,  no;  I  can't  do  that,"  Mr.  Anderson  has 
tened  to  say.  "I'm  for  the  old  party  still.  I  believe, 
Mr.  Sawtheaire,  I  'm  like  an  old  war-horse,  which 
pricks  up  its  ears  and  begins  to  prance  at  the  sound  of 
martial  music.  When  I  hear  of  a  political  battle,  my 
blood  warms.  I  do  n't  see  how  I  can  keep  out  of  the 
fray." 

"  It  would  be  an  irreparable  loss  to  our  party  if  you 


CANDIDATES    FOR   OFFICE.  85 

should,"  said  Sawtheaire.  "Take  four  or  five  such 
men  as  you  out  of  the  fight,  and  the  backbone  of  the 
party  would  be  gone.  We  must  exercise  judgment  in 
our  nominations,  Mr.  Anderson.  I  tell  you  the  people 
won't  stand  a  crank." 

"There  is  something  in  what  you  say,  Mr.  Saw 
theaire,  I  must  confess.  I  suppose  you  have  caught 
me  by  right  of  priority." 

The  lawyer  smiled.     He  said  : 

"Then  I  may  count  on  you,  Mr.  Anderson?" 

"Well,  hardly  that.  But  under  the  circumstances 
I  can  take  no  part  against  you." 

"But  I  need  your  help,  Mr.  Anderson." 

"  I  do  n't  like  to  make  war  upon  Manning." 

"Does  he  want  your  help,  or  even  neutrality?  Has 
he  ever  asked  for  it  ?" 

"Well,  no.  But  he  is  rather  shy  in  politics,  and 
doubtless  backward  about  approaching  his  friends." 

"Not  very  backward,  Mr.  Anderson.  He  has  al 
ready  spoken  to  Colonel  Mansfield  and  Jacob  Haynes." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Anderson. 

"  He  has  already  spoken  to  Colonel  Mansfield  and 
Jacob  Haynes,  and  they  have  agreed  to  support  him. 
I  have  heard  it  whispered  that  he  said  he  did  n't  want 
the  support  of  drinking  men." 

"He  meant  drunkards,  I  suppose." 

' '  No,  they  say  he  said  he  had  no  use  for  moderate 
drinkers.  Mr.  Anderson,  he  classes  you  and  me,  with 
our  harmless  little  dram  this  afternoon,  with  the  drunk 
ard  in  the  gutter." 

"Surely  not." 

"  However  that  may  be,  he  wholly  ignores  your  in 
fluence,  and  I  think  every  fair-minded  politician  would 
say  I  am  entitled  to  it." 

Under  these  repeated  assaults  the  opposition  of 
Henry  Anderson  gave  way  at  last,  and  he  half  con 
sented  to  aid  Lyman  Sawtheaire  in  the  contest. 

"But  I  do  not  promise  positively,"  he  said,  as  he 
turned  to  leave  the  office.  "All  I  can  say  now  is 


86  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

that  I  think  I  will  support  you.  I  can  let  you  know 
positively  within  a  few  days." 

On  his  way  home  he  passed  William  Manning. 
They  spoke  to  each  other;  but  Henry  Anderson,  feel 
ing  as  if  his  recent  conversation  and  partial  bargain 
with  Lyman  Sawtheaire  were  known  to  the  whole  world, 
was  distant  and  hurried  in  his  greeting.  Now  when 
William  Manning  saw  Henry  Anderson  approaching 
him,  he  thought  that  he  would  conquer  his  pride,  and 
solicit  the  farmer's  help  in  the  pending  contest.  He 
had  conceived  a  strong  affection  for  Katie  Anderson, 
and  this  very  fact,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  had  made 
him  proud  and  diffident  in  her  father's  presence,  and 
more  especially  so  when  he  imagined  that  her  father 
manifested  some  degree  of  coldness  towards  him.  He 
detected  at  once  the  constraint  in  Mr.  Anderson's 
manner,  and  his  resolution  was  instantly  chilled.  The 
one  went  to  his  office  and  the  other  to  his  home.  This 
was  the  beginning  of  the  breach  between  them.  The 
young  attorney  pondered  long  over  Mr.  Anderson's 
seeming  coldness,  and  wondered  if  he  had  been  indis 
creet  in  any  word  or  act  towards  Katie,  or  if  his  visits 
to  that  young  woman  were  not  agreeable  to  her  father. 
While  Mr.  Anderson,  on  his  part,  thought  that  William 
Manning  had  grown  more  haughty  than  ever.  "At 
least  he  does  not  care  for  my  help,"  he  said.  "My 
influence  does  not  go  begging.  It  will  not  be  bestowed 
unsought.  I  had  liked  Manning  the  best.  But  no 
more  of  this  now.  I  am  in  doubt  no  longer.  Lyman 
Sawtheaire  shall  have  Henry  Anderson's  influence." 

On  reaching  home,  he  wrote  a  note  to  Sawtheaire, 
and  dispatched  it  to  that  gentleman  by  his  son,  in 
which  he  stated  that  he  had  decided  to  help  the  man 
who  had  sought  his  help.  Had  he  waited  until  the  fol 
lowing  morning,  or  until  his  pique  had  worn  off,  he 
might  not  have  sent  the  note.  But  the  note  was  now 
in  Sawtheaire's  hands,  and  the  man  who  had  written  it 
was  pledged  to  the  cause  of  the  man  to  whom  it  was 
addressed. 


CANDIDATES    FOR   OFFICE.  87 

After  Sawtheaire  had  read  the  note,  he  elevated  his 
feet  to  the  top  of  his  desk,  and  said  with  a  victorious 
air:  "This  has  been  a  lucky  day  for  you,  my  dear 
Sawtheaire.  Good-bye,  pipe,  for  to-day !  I  can  afford 
to  smoke  a  cigar  !  " 


CHAPTER  VI. 

CONTRASTS  IN  ELECTIONEERING. 

The  last  Saturday  in  the  following  May  was  an 
eventful  day.  The  time  for  holding  the  primaries  and 
county  convention  was  now  rapidly  approaching. 
Sawtheaire  had  not  been  idle  since  that  day  in  Feb 
ruary  when  he  had  obtained  the  pledge  of  Henry 
Anderson's  support,  but  had  been  at  work,  with  com 
mendable  energy,  in  all  parts  of  the  county,  seeking  to 
advance  his  candidacy  among  the  people.  It  must  be 
confessed  that  Manning  had  not  been  as  diligent  in 
pressing  his  claims  as  he  should  have  been  in  order  to 
insure  success.  He  had  attended  with  promptness  and 
scrupulous  care  to  all  the  details  of  his  professional 
work,  but  had  shrunk  away  from  the  political  conflict, 
and  deferred  to  a  late  hour  his  tour  of  Callitso  County. 

On  this  last  Saturday  in  May,  William  Manning 
summoned  up  all  the  courage  which  he  could  com 
mand,  and.  at  the  rising  of  the  sun,  drove  out  of  Well 
ington  on  his  way  to  the  town  of  Jackson,  about  fif 
teen  miles  distant,  to  interview  the  freemen  of  that 
vicinity  concerning  his  candidacy.  At  about  the  same 
moment,  Lyman  Sawtheaire  set  out,  for  similar  pur 
poses,  for  the  town  of  Holyterror ,  located  in  an  oppo 
site  direction  and  about  twenty  miles  from  Wellington. 
He  stopped  in  front  of  an  elegant  mansion  east  of  the 
square  in  Wellington,  and  the  familiar  keg-shaped 
form  of  Mayor  Trinkenviellager  decended  the  steps 
from  the  house  and  approached  the  buggy. 

"You  are  always  on  time,"  cried  Mr.  Sawtheaire, 
with  difficulty  restraining  his  restive  horses. 

"  Yah  !  "  was  the  answer.  "  Ven  I  haf  peesiness,  I 
vas  neffer  late." 

"I  must  have  the  solid  support  of  Holyterrpr, " 
said  Sawtheaire,  when  they  were  well  under  way. 


CONTRASTS    IN    ELECTIONEERING.  89 

"Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  I  am  a  pronounced 
temperance  man,  the  whole  tribe  of  temperance  fanat 
ics,  male  and  female,  have  taken  up  the  hatchet 
against  me,  headed,  of  course,  by  Professor  Elizabeth 
Oakford.  I  can  't  get  along  without  the  solid  vote  of 
Holyterror,  and  I  know  that  you  can  do  me  more  good 
in  that  township  than  anybody  else.  I  shall  be  under 
many  obligations  for  your  help,  and  hope  I  may  be  able 
to  repay  your  kindness,  one  of  these  days."  The 
Mayor  straightened  himself  up  and  inflated  his  cheeks 
with  air.  It  was  evident  that  he  considered  the  Mayor 
as  one  of  the  most  prominent  men  of  the  nation,  and 
did  not  entertain  even  a  chimerical  or  conjectural 
doubt  that  he  was  so  regarded  by  all  of  his  associates. 
The  idea  that  any  man  could  utter  the  words  just 
spoken  from  policy,  or  in  irony,  could  never  find  en 
tertainment  in  his  cranium. 

' '  Of  course, "  he  said,  ' '  I  know  de  beeples  at  Holy- 
terror,  und  votever  I  say  do,  dey  do  dat.  Ve  must 
see  Yungfrau  und  Donnerblitzen  und  Gootvein — dey 
are  de  brominent  men  of  de  place.  Dey  are  like  de 
queen  bee.  All  de  rest  schwarm  around  mit  dem. 
You  catch  dem — gif  yourself  no  fret — dey  catch  de 
rest." 

"I  believe  Donnerblitzen  and  Gootvein  are  saloon 
keepers?"  inquired  Sawtheaire. 

"O  yah!  yah!  und  Yungfrau  he  vas  a  man  vat 
makes  vines,  vat  you  call  him,  eh?" 

"Vintner — a  vintner." 

"  Yah  ! — dot  vas  right.  He  makes  vines.  You  see 
dese  men  carry  all  de  votes  mit  der  pockets.  You  see 
flies  stick  on  molasses,  eh  ?  Dey  catch  de  voters  like 
molasses  catch  flies — see?" 

Arrived  at  Holyterror,  an  active  town  of  six  or 
seven  hundred  inhabitants,  these  worthy  electioneerers 
gave  their  horses  and  buggy  into  the  custody  of  a 
liveryman,  and  began  an  active  prosecution  of  their 
business.  First,  they  sought  the  saloon  of  Herr  Don 
nerblitzen.  That  gentleman  was  behind  the  bar,  with 


9O  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

a  fresh  apron  on,  ready  to  respond  to  the  wishes  of  his 
patrons.  Six  or  eight  men  were  lounging  around  the 
room  in  idleness  and  expectation. 

"You  must  treat  de  poys, "  whispered  Mayor 
Trinkenviellager  as  he  waddled  up  to  the  bar.  This 
advice  was  wholly  unnecessary  in  the  present  instance, 
for  Sawtheaire  had  been  in  politics  long  enough  to  un 
derstand  the  absolute  necessity  of  "treating  the  boys  " 
in  such  a  place  as  Holyterror. 

"Hello,  old  fellow,"  said  Dormerblitzen  as  he 
reached  over  the  bar,  and  clapped  his  hand  upon  the 
hand  of  Trinkenviellager  with  a  fraternal  grasp  from 
which  the  latter  had  some  difficulty  in  extricating  him 
self. 

"  Mein  frent,  Mr.  Sawteaire,"  said  the  Mayor. 
"A  candidate  for  brosecutin'  attorney.  One  of  de 
schmartest  men  in  de  county.  You  haf  de  honor  to 
see  him  mit  de  Mayor  of  Wellington."  Here  he  in 
flated  his  cheeks  with  air.  "Come  on,  poys,  come 
on,  "  he  continued,  addressing  the  aforesaid  idlers, 
"  und  shake  hands  mit  der  next  brosecutin'  attorney." 

The  crowd  ambled  up  to  the  bar,  in  joyful  antici 
pation,  and  engaged  in  a  vigorous  hand-shaking  with 
the  prospective  State's  attorney,  such  as  would  have 
been  highly  creditable  during  a  "revival  of  religion," 
or  at  the  reunion  of  a  long-separated  family.  Then 
Sawtheaire  called  for  the  drinks,  and  each  man  pro 
ceeded,  with  evident  relish,  to  dispose  of  the  contents 
of  his  glass.  By  the  time  the  Mayor's  glass  had  been 
returned  to  the  bar,  his  genius  for  oratory  was  pre 
pared  to  assert  itself.  He  reared  back,  with  a  due 
feeling  of  his  own  importance  and  the  solemnity  of  the 
occasion,  turned  towards  his  auditors,  brought  his 
clenched  fist  down  on  the  bar  with  a  bang  which  threat 
ened  the  destruction  of  several  glasses,  "and  thus  ad 
dressed  them." 

"  Mein  fater  came  from  old  Germany.  I  vas  born 
close  py  de  Rhine.  My  early  life  vas  quiet.  I  blayed 
mit  de  poys  und  girls  shust.like  any  oder  poy.  I  vas 


CONTRASTS  IN  ELECTIONEERING.  9! 

not  den  de  mayor  of  a  great  city.  How  you  know,  eh, 
vot  poy  vill  make  de  great  man  of  de  country?  He 
look  like  any  oder  poy.  Veil,  mein  fater,  ven  he  vant 
a  glass  of  peer  he  take  it,  und  he  say,  '  Fritz,  ven  you 
vant  peer,  you  haf  de  lipperties  to  take  it,  if  you  can 
get  it,  eh?'  I  grew  up  like  mein  fater.  Ven  I  vant 
peer,  I  take  it.  But  vot  you  tink,  eh  ?  Dese  cranks, 
vot  talk  all  de  time  about  brohibition — dey  take  avay 
our  lipperties,  und  say,  '  Fritz,  ven  you  vant  peer,  you 
drink  milk  or  vasser. '  Dey  make  a  law  und  dey  say 
to  frent  Donnerblitzen,  'You  sell  to  poys  under  twenty- 
one,  und  ve  fine  you  und  send  you  to  jail.'  If  I  don't 
vant  mein  poy  to  haf  peer,  can  't  I  say  dat,  eh?  Vat 
haf  the  legislature  to  do  mit  mein  family,  eh  ?  Dey 
do  n't  take  avay  my  lipperties  mitout  a  fight,  you  bet !  I 
vote  mit  my  frents.  I  vote  mit  Sawteaire,  you  bet!  " 

The  Mayor  paused.  His  face  glowed  from  the  un 
wonted  exercise.  It  was  undoubtedly  the  longest,  if 
not  the  most  eloquent,  speech  the  Mayor  had  ever  de 
livered.  Ordinarily  he  was  a  man  of  few  words,  and 
went  straight  to  the  mark.  But  on  this  occasion  his 
indignation  at  the  effort  of  certain  classes  of  the  people 
to  abridge  his  Heaven-born  liberty  could  not  find  re 
lief  in  a  few  polished  sentences,  but  sought  a  vent  in  a 
more  labored  oratorical  effort. 

He  looked  around  indignantly,  as  if  searching  for 
some  one  who  dared  to  gainsay  his  remarks.  But  such 
an  individual  was  not  present.  "That's  so!  that's 
so  !  "  "We  '11  do  it !  "  "  Rah  for  the  Mayor !  "  shouted 
his  auditors  impetuously.  The  Mayor  nudged  Saw- 
theaire,  and  Sawtheaire  cried  out,  ' '  Gentlemen,  what 
will  you  have  ?  "  One  by  one  the  crowd  made  known 
their  desires  and  moistened  their  feverish  throats. 
Thereupon,  they  unanimously  voted  Sawtheaire  a 
"capital  good  fellow,"  thoroughly  qualified  for  the 
office  of  State's  attorney,  and  promised  him  their  votes 
and  influence  at  the  primary.  One  of  them  said  he 
did  n't  belong  to  that  party,  and  could  not  vote  at 
the  primary,  but  he'd  be  "blasted  if  he  didn't  vote 


92  A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

for  sich  a  man  as  that  next  November,  party  or  no 
party."  Another  gentleman  remarked  that  the  Mayor's 
oration  "beat  Billy  Shakspeare  all  holler;  "  that  it  was 
more  "  touchin'  than  when  the  ghost  ris  up  and 
would  n't  sot  down. "  These  remarks  were  from  the 
literary  gentleman  of  the  group.  The  extensive 
knowledge  of  English  literature  suggested  by  this 
reference  to  Billy  Shakspeare  awed  the  speaker's  com 
panions  into  silence,  and  they  contented  themselves 
with  dropping  their  under  jaws  in  token  of  their  own 
ignorance. 

Before  the  Mayor  and  Sawtheaire  left  the  saloon, 
the  former  had  a  short  conversation  with  the  proprie 
tor  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  which  resulted  in  the 
latter's  pledging  himself  to  support  Sawtheaire,  and  ac 
cepting  some  of  the  attorney's  money  to  be  used  at  the 
proper  time  in  treating  the  boys,  by  which  word  it 
was  intended  to  designate  not  only  the  rising  generation, 
but  also  certain  veterans  whose  noses  had  become  red 
and  whose  eyes  had  become  watery  in  the  service  of 
King  Alcohol.  "Manning  is  on  de  oder  side,  but  Saw- 
teaire  is  all  right — all  right,"  whispered  the  Mayor 
with  a  solemn  look  and  knowing  wink.  Donnerblitzen 
nodded  his  head  as  if  he  understood  the  meaning  of  these 
words  and  facial  expressions,  and  our  friends  thereupon 
took  their  departure. 

Like  important  proceedings  in  the  interest  of  "lip- 
perty"  occurred  in  Gootvein's  saloon  and  Yungfrau's 
cellar.  Mr.  Sawtheaire  then  abandoned  the  Mayor, 
excusing  himself  on  the  ground  that  he  had  some 
private  business  to  transact  with  a  client,  and  promis 
ing  to  meet  the  Mayor  at  one  o'clock  that  afternoon  at 
the  livery-stable. 

Mr.  Sawtheaire  watched  for  his  opportunity,  and 
when  he  saw  the  Mayor  re-enter  Donnerblitzen 's  saloon, 
doubtless  for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  some  more  of 
that  gentleman's  beverages,  he  walked  rapidly  in  an 
easterly  direction  till  he  came  to  a  square,  solemn,  un- 
ornamented  house  which  was  the  well-known  residence 


CONTRASTS  IN  ELECTIONEERING.  93 

of  Deacon  Dontsmile.  The  Deacon  belonged  to  Mr.  Saw- 
theaire's  party,  but  was  a  very  strict  and  pious  man, 
radically  opposed  to  saloons,  but  inclined  to  favor  the 
use  of  a  '*  leetle  brandy  "  for  medicinal  purposes  by  the 
diaconate  in  the  private  sanctity  of  their  own  cellars, 
where  a  bad  example  would  not  be  set  before  the 
hardened  sinners  of  Holyterror. 

Mr.  Sawtheaire  rapped  at  the  door,  and  was  admit 
ted  by  the  Deacon  himself.  He  had  been  "  meditatin' 
on  the  Holy  Scripters. "  He  said  that  one  of  the  "most 
comfortin  scripters  fur  him  in  the  hull  book  was  whar 
it  said  thar  should  be  weepin'  and  gnashin'  of  teeth." 
He  observed  that  the  world  was  full  of  "wickedness 
an'  putrifyin'  sores."  He  thanked  the  Lord  that  he 
was  one  of  the  elect,  and  that  his  "  feet  had  been  tuck 
out  of  the  miry  clay  and  sot  upon  a  rock."  "And 
why  should  n't  a  man  who  was  not  one  of  the  elect  weep 
an'  gnash?  He  'd  orter  been  elected.  It'll  do  the  soul 
of  a  righteous  man  good  to  see  them  as  orter  been 
elected  an'  ain't  been  elected  weepin'  an  gnashin'  whar 
the  worm  dieth  not  an'  the  fire  is  not  squenched. " 

"  You  old  fool,"  thought  Sawtheaire,  "  such  a  doc 
trine  would  make  atheists  of  thinking  men.  But  un 
less  I  can  catch  some  of  you  saints,  I  'm  afraid  I  '11  not 
be  one  of  the  elect.  I  think  I  now  see  how  to  bait  my 
hook  for  you." 

So  Mr.  Sawtheaire  sighed,  and  lengthened  his  face  to 
its  utmost  capacity,  and  put  on  a  sad  expression  of  coun 
tenance.  ' '  How  true !  how  true  1 "  he  said.  "  It  seems 
as  if  mankind  are  rushing  on  to  destruction,  Deacon. 
There  were  not  ten  righteous  men  in  Sodom.  If  there 
had  been,  that  great  and  wicked  city  would  have  been 
spared,  and  the  punishment  of  its  people  -reserved  till 
the  day  of  doom,  when  the  sheep  shall  pass  over  to  the 
right  and  the  goats  to  the  left.  And  I  have  often 
thought,  Deacon,  that  this  world  is  ripe  for  destruction, 
and  would  be  destroyed,  were  it  not  for  a  few  righteous 
souls  who  yet  remain  as  the  salt  of  the  earth.  I  heard 
a  gentleman  say  the  other  day  that  the  world  was  bad 


94  A  SUBTLE  ADVERSAPY. 

enough,  but  that,  thank* God!  there  were  a  few  such 
men  as  Deacon  Dontsmile  left  to  stay  the  avenging 
hand  of  Deity." 

"  Mought  you  tell  me  who  the  gentleman  wus?" 
said  the  Deacon  as  a  slight  gleam  of  painful  satisfaction 
stole  into  his  eyes. 

"  Why,  Deacon,  he  was  a  modest  and  retiring  man, 
and  we  were  talking  confidentially,  and  for  these 
reasons  I  do  n't  feel  at  liberty  to  mention  his  name. 
He  was  a  warm  personal  friend  of  yours.  But  it  is 
wonderful  how  men  differ  in  their  opinions  on  the  most 
simple  questions.  Do  you  know  a  young  lawyer 
named  Manning — William  Manning — from  Welling 
ton?" 

"I've  heerd  his  name,  but  I  never  seen  him.      I  've* 
heerd  he  wus  a  smart  sort  of  a  lad  like." 

"  Oh  yes,  he  ha-s  sense  enough  in  some  things.  In 
other  things  he  is  a  complete  fool.  And  he  has  some 
of  the  queerest  ideas  !  Oh  my  !  I  do'n't  know  whether 
you  would  like  him  or  not.  Now,  it  seems  to  me 
that  if  there  is  any  doctrine  in  this  world  that  is  con 
sistent  with  reason,  it  is  your  doctrine  that  the  potter 
has  power  over  the  clay,  and  if  he  wants  to  make  a 
beautiful  vase  out  of  one  lump,  there  is  that  much  to 
be  thankful  for,  and  if  he  wants  to  make  a  vessel  of  dis 
honor  out  of  another  lump,  and  damn  it  for  all  eternity 
before  he  makes  it,  that  is  all  right — it  is  the  potter's 
clay,  and  the  vessel  has  no  right  to  complain.  I  have 
always  thought  that  doctrine  the  perfection  of  human 
reason." 

"Mr.  Sawtheaire,  your  expersition  of  the  doctern 
is  clear  as  light." 

"  But,  Dtacon,  I  understand  Manning  says  that  such 
a  doctrine  is  pretty  hard  on  the  poor  vessel  that  didn't 
make  itself  and  couldn't  help  itself,  and  yet  was  made 
with  capacity  to  feel  and  suffer,  and  was  damned  to 
everlasting  suffering  before  it  was  made." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  the  Deacon. 

"  Manning  is  down  on  the  doctrine  of  election.    He 


CONTRASTS  IN  ELECTIONEERING.  95 

said  the  other  day  that  he  did  n't  want  any  man  to  talk 
to  him  about  a  God  who  would  arbitrarily  damn  men 
before  they  were  born — that  such  a  God  was  not  the 
God  of  the  Bible." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  the  Deacon,  in  a  more  solemn 
tone  than  before,  and  with  a  pious  uplifting  of  his 
hands,  as  if  to  ward  off  the  contaminating  influence  of 
these  words. 

"  He  said  he  believed  God  was  no  respecter  of  per 
sons,  and  that  he  would  give  all  men  an  equal  chance 
— that  Christ  was  ready  to  receive  all,  white  or  black, 
rich  or  poor,  high  or  low,  who  would  come  to  him  for 
life." 

"What!"  gasped  the  Deacon.  "Not  believe  in 
election !  "  he  exclaimed,  settling  back  in  his  chair  as  if 
exhausted.  "  Do  n't  the  Scripter  say,  Jacob  have  I 
loved,  an'  Esau  have  I  hated  ?  Well,  I  've  no  use 
fer  him — no  use  fer  him.  Take  away  that  good  old 
doctern,  an'  I  'm  afeerd  I  'd  become  a  skeptic.  Why, 
Mr.  Sawtheaire,  what  air  some  men  made  fer,  if  they 
ain't  made  to  be  damned  ?  " 

"No  man  can  answer  that  question,"  said  the  at 
torney.  "Your  logic  is  inexorable.  But  then  you 
will  have  an  opportunity  to  sound  William  Manning 
on  this  question.  I  expect  he  will  come  to  see  you 
before  long.  .  He  wants  to  be  State's  attorney,  and  is 
consequently  out  electioneering.  He  belongs  to  your 
party,  you  know." 

"Mr.  Sawtheaire,"  said  the  Deacon  slowly,  as  he 
straightened  himself  up  in  his  chair,  and  looked  his  visi 
tor  full  in  the  face  — "  Mr.  Sawtheaire,  I  '11  never  vote 
fer  sich  a  heretic  as  that,  never  !  I  expect  he  believes 
the  world  air  round — right  agin  the  Scripters^-an'  that 
it  air  a  movin'  around  the  sun,  as  some  of  these  moder- 
ings  say,  right  agin  the  Scripters. " 

"I  have  no  doubt  he  does,  Deacon.  And  besides 
that,  he  is  impudent  about  it.  He  would  try  to  argue 
the  matter  with  a  Bible-student  like  yourself,  and  to 
convince  you  that  you  are  wrong." 


g  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"I'll  never  vote  fer  sich  a  heretic,"  persisted  the 
Deacon. 

"Then,  Deacon,"  said  Sawtheaire,  "you  will  have 
to  vote  for  me.  There  are  only  two  of  us  in  the  field.'' 

"  And  do  you  really  believe  in  election,  Mr.  Saw 
theaire?"  inquired  the  Deacon,  looking  keenly  into  the 
young  man's  eyes. 

"I  certainly  do,"  said  Mr.  Sawtheaire,  returning 
his  gaze  unflinchingly,  but  mentally  adding,  "  the  elec 
tion  of  myself." 

"Then  I  '11  vote  fer  you  and  work  fer  you,"  cried  the 
Deacon,  seizing  his  hand,  and  shaking  it  energetically. 

Having  accomplished  his  purpose,  Mr.  Sawtheaire 
hastened  to  the  hotel,  where  he  had  his  dinner,  and 
then  to  the  livery  stable,  where  he  found  Mayor  Trink- 
enviellager  engaged  in  hurling  his  anathemas  at  that 
branch  of  the  American  people  v/ho  were  seeking 
to  deprive  their  fellow-men  of  the  liberty  of  getting 
drunk.  Soon  afterwards  the  two  friends  left  the  town 
of  Holyterror,  and  turned  their  horses  in  the  direction 
of  the  county-seat,  well  satisfied  with  their  day's  work, 
and  firmly  convinced  that  the  voice  of  the  freemen  of 
Holyterror  would  be  in  favor  of  that  eminent  and  high- 
minded  professional  gentleman,  Lyman  Sawtheaire, 
Esq.  Suddenly  it  occurred  to  Mr.  Sawtheaire  that  he 
might  capture  a  few  more  votes  before  the  sun  should 
set  by  going  to  Moberly,  a  railway  station  about  five 
miles  northeast  of  Wellington.  He  had  heard  of  a 
few  disaffected  men  there,  and  had  been  advised  to  in 
terview  them  at  the  earliest  practicable  opportunity. 
But  the  Mayor's  advocacy  of  his  cause  would  be  an  in 
jury  rather  than  a  benefit  at  Moberly.  The  Mayor 
acquiesced  in  Mr.  Sawtheaire's  proposition  to  make 
this  detour,  and  at  half-past  three  in  the  afternoon  they 
entered  the  village. 

"Mayor,"  said  Sawtheaire,  "  I  think  I  shall  stay 
here  to-night.  I  wish  to  see  several  of  our  party- 
workers  at  this  place.  Suppose  you  drive  home,  and 
I  '11  come  over  on  the  train  in  the  morning." 


CONTRASTS    IN    ELECTIONEERING.  97 

But  Trinkenviellager  did  not  desire  to  assume  the 
responsibility  of  driving  this  team  for  a  distance  of  five 
miles,  and  began  to  insist  on  Sawtheaire's  returning 
home  that  afternoon. 

"I  can  not  go  before  morning,"  said  Sawtheaire. 
"  My  business  here  is  imperative." 

"  Drive  home  after  dark,"  insisted  the  Mayor.  "I 
do  n't  have  to  be  home  before  ten  o'clock." 

' '  I  must  stay  here,  my  friend.  I  have  some  private 
business  to  look  after, -and  can  not  possibly  leave  to 
night." 

After  considerable  expostulation,  Sawtheaire  suc 
ceeded  in  inducing  the  Mayor  to  go  on.  As  the  buggy 
disappeared  down  the  road,  Sawtheaire  said  to  himself: 
"I  '11  tell  the  old  ignoramus  when  I  go  back  to-night 
that  the  men  I  stopped  to  see  were  out  of  town,  and 
that  I  found  there  was  nothing  to  be  accomplished  by 
remaining  here,  and  so -took  the  afternoon  train  for 
Wellington.  This  is  a  temperance  town,  and  it  would 
kill  me  here  to  be  seen  electioneering  with  Trinkenviel 
lager." 

For  the  attorney  had  no  intention  of  remaining  at 
Moberly  over  night.  In  three  quarters  of  an  hour  he 
had  concluded  his  business  in  that  village  and  was 
ready  to  return  home.  When  he  went  to  the  depot  he 
found  that  the  train  was  five  or  six  hours  late,  and 
thereupon  determined  to  walk,  as  being  far  preferable 
to  waiting  for  the  train  at  Moberly.  The  road  led  for 
a  short  distance  over  what  had  once  been  prairie  land, 
and  then  entered  the  forest  which  lay  north  and  north 
east  of  Wellington.  It  wound  around  among  the  hills 
which  extended  some  distance  from  Honey  Creek  until 
it  reached  the  bottom  lands,  and  in  like  manner  sought 
a  natural  exit  from  the  bottoms  to  the  high  lands  on 
the  other  side  '.by  following  the  natural  depression  be 
tween  the  hills.  When  Mr.  Sawtheaire  had  crossed 
the  creek,  he  left  the  road  and  followed  a  pathway 
along  the  bank  of  the  creek  which  was  a  well  known 
shorter  route  to  Wellington  for  those  who  were  not  in- 


9§  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

cumbered  with  horse  or  buggy.  If  he  had  followed 
the  main  road  around  the  point  of  the  first  hill  on  the 
south  side  of  the  creek,  he  would  have  found  a  horse 
and  buggy  at  one  side  of  the  road  out  of  the  line  of 
travel.  The  horse  was  headed  towards  Wellington, 
and  was  firmly  secured  to  a  hickory  tree  on  the  road 
side.  The  horse  and  buggy  were  the  same  which  had 
conveyed  William  Manning  to  Jackson  that  morning, 
and  the  horse  had  undoubtedly  been  tied  to  that  tree 
by  William  Manning  himself. 

But  Mr.  Sawtheaire  did  not  follow  the  road,  or  turn 
the  point  of  that  hill,  or  see  the  horse  and  Luggy.  He 
walked  slowly  and  almost  noiselessly  along  the  narrow 
foot-path,  on  the  bank  of  Honey  Creek,  until  a  bend 
in  the  creek  brought  him  in  full  view  of  two  figures 
seated  on  the  moss  under  a  great  elm  tree,  a  few  paces 
distant  from  the  creek.  At  the  place  where  they  were 
seated  the  bluff  receded  from  the  creek  about  forty  feet, 
but  almost  touched  the  creek  at  a  short  distance 
on  each  side,  forming  thereby  a  very  small  valley  in 
the  shape  of  a  half  moon.  Back  of  the  valley  and  near 
the  place  where  the  two  figures  were  seen  the  bluff 
rose  almost  perpendicularly  to  the  height  of  thirty  or 
forty  feet.  By  climbing  the  old  elm  tree  and  crawling 
out  on  its  limbs  towards  the  south,  a  daring  athlete 
could  jump  from  the  tree  upon  the  bluff.  It  was  truly 
a  beautiful  place. 

Mr.  Sawtheaire  paused  in  surprise.  He  looked  at 
the  beings  so  unexpectedly  disclosed  to  view.  There 
was  no  mistaking  their  identity.  He  had  seen  them 
too  often  not  to  know  them  even  at  this  distance. 
What  could  be  the  meaning  of  their  meeting  in  this 
romantic  spot?  There  was  nothing  unpleasant  in  the 
situation  evide-ntly,  for  a  soft  laugh  was  now  borne  to 
his  ears,  and  the  sound  of  their  voices  indicated  agree 
able  conversation.  Mr.  Sawtheaire  flushed  just  a  little. 
He  was  sure  he  had  not  been  seen.  "  I  '11  work  my 
way  around  to  that  bluff  over  their  heads,"  he  thought, 
"and  I'll  fin-d  out  what  ..Mr.  William  Manning  and 


CONTRASTS    IN    ELECTIONEERING.  99 

Miss  Katie  Anderson  are  doing  this  lovely  afternoon  in 
this  quiet  little  valley.  While  I  Ve  been  looking  after 
one  prize,  he  seems  to  have  been  looking  after  another. 
I  must  investigate  this  affair."  He  turned  to  the  left, 
and  in  a  moment  was  beyond  the  range  of  their  vision, 
though  he  would  probably  not  have  been  seen  if  he 
had  stood  within  view  of  them  for  half  an  hour. 

It  was  not  a  difficult  task  for  Lyman  Sawtheaire  to 
force  his  way  through  the  undergrowth  and  between 
the  trees  and  up  the  back  of  the  bluff  till  he  had  gained 
a  position  from  which  he  could  peer  between  the 
bushes  into  the  vale  and  the  stream  beyond,  and  down 
at  the  two  individuals  in  whom  he  seemed  to  have  be 
come  so  deeply  interested.  He  felt  a  pang  of  jealousy, 
for  Katie  was  a  sweet  and  winning  girl,  now  about  sev 
enteen  years  of  age,  and  showing  herself  to  be  worthy 
of  the  adoration  of  some  loving  heart.  "I'll  break 
up  this  sort  of  business,"  he  muttered.  "I  rather 
like  the  girl  myself — in  fact,  I  believe,  if  I  was  forced 
to  a  choice,  I  would  take  her  in  preference  to  the  office 
of  State's  attorney.  Possibly,  in  the  course  of  time, 
I  may  want  to  tender  her  the  name  of  Sawtheaire.  At 
any  rate,  she  shall  not  get  into  any  complications  with 
Manning.  Shall  not !  It  looks  very  much  like  she  is 
in  that  condition  right  now.  I  may  lose  the  girl  and 
her  money  and  her  father's  influence.  Heavens,  Saw 
theaire,  rouse  up,  old  fellow!"  He  settled  himself 
down  among  the  bushes  that  he  might  see  and  hear. 
"I  wonder  if  Cranky  Bess  is  prowling  around  here  to 
see  that  this  affair  is  well  managed.  More  than  likely 
this  meeting  is  the  result  of  her  devilish  planning." 
Having  muttered  these  words,  he  gave  his  undivided 
attention  to  the  scene  before  him. 

And  now  the  reader  may  wonder  how  this  clandes 
tine  meeting  of  the  two  lovers  m  this  quiet  spot  at  the 
hour  of  five  o'clock  Saturday  afternocwi  was  brought 
about.  But  hold  !  It  is  by  no  means  proved  that  they 
are  lovers,  or  that  the  meeting  is  clandestine.  It  is 
certain  that  this  nook  is  only  a  mile  and  a  half  from 


100  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

Wellington ;  that  it  is  near  a  public  highway,  and  along 
a  pathway  often  traversed  by  men  and  women.  No ; 
we  can  not  admit  they  are  lovers.  Katie  is  surely  too 
young  to  understand  even  the  definition  of  love,  much 
less  to  understand  the  whole  mysterious  subject  experi 
mentally.  And  as  to  their  meeting  here  at  this  time, 
it  was  not  the  result  of  agreement  or  deliberation,  but 
of  a  concatenation  of  circumstances  such  as  often  brings 
persons  together  at  unexpected  times,  and  in  unheard- 
of  places,  and  with  strange  consequences.  Elizabeth 
Oakford  did  not  plan  the  meeting,  though  she  would 
not  have  scrupled  to  do  so,  for  that  matter,  if  she  had 
ever  thought  of  the  possibility  of  thereby  bringing  her 
two  dearest  friends  closer  together.  She  was  not  prowl 
ing  around  the  bluff  this  afternoon,  but  if  she  had  been 
she  would  have  been  immensely  pleased  at  what  was 
for  Lyman  Sawtheaire  the  cause  of  great  displeasure. 

The  reader  remembers  that  as  the  sun  made  his 
debut  on  this  fair  May  morn,  and  those  truthful  and 
virtuous  politicians,  Sawtheaire  and  Trinkenviellager, 
set  out  for  Holyterror,  our  friend  William  Manning 
drove  away  in  another  direction,  having  the  town  of 
Jackson  for  his  destination.  William  Manning  was  a 
Nimrod,  and  took  his  gun  with  him.  He  was  going  to 
hunt  votes,  and  thought  he  might  also  secure  a  squirrel 
or  two.  In  fact  he  considered  himself  as  a  more  expert 
hunter  of  the  latter  than  of  the  former.  Studious  and 
industrious  as  he  was,  he  yet  delighted  occasionally  to 
forsake  the  dust  of  the  office  and  repair  to  the  woods 
or  the  prairie,  not  only  for  meditation,  but  also  for  that 
recreation  and  resuscitation  of  mind  and  body  which 
came  from  the  crack  of  his  gun  and  the  slaughter  of 
game. 

He  rode  along,  wondering  where  he  would  begin 
and  how  he  would  begin — not  the  slaughter  of  innocent 
squirrels,  but  the  bagging  of  votes.  He  had  a  singular 
delicacy  about  asking  men  to  vote  for  him,  or  to  use 
their  influence  in  his  favor.  He  was  not  backward 
when  in  the  line  of  duty.  No  man  could  stand  more 


CONTRASTS    IN    ELECTIONEERING.  IOI 

bravely  and  unflinchingly  by  the  right  than  he.  He 
could  enter  fearlessly  upon  the  trial  of  a  cause  in  court. 
He  could  address  court,  jury  or  audience  with  that  self- 
possession  indispensable  to  an  orator,  coupled  ever  with 
a  due  sense  of  the  gravity  and  responsibility  of  the  situ 
ation.  But  electioneering  was  for  him  a  hard  task. 
Yes;  he  could  walk  up  to  a  man  and  say:  "I  would 
like  to  have  your  vote."  But  if  that  man  should 
answer,  "You  can't  have  it,"  he  would  feel  crushed. 
A  few  such  experiences  would  so  dampen  his  priming 
as  to  render  further  assault  an  impossible  thing. 

And  yet  rebuffs  and  insults  were  more  tolerable 
than  certain  demands  ordinarily  made  upon  candidates. 
He  would  not  enter  saloons  and  engage  in  buying  in 
fluence  and  favors  by  putting  the  bottle  to  his  neigh 
bor's  lips.  He  would  not  degrade  his  manhood  by 
standing  upon  the  street-corners  and  listening,  with 
smiling  face  and  apparent  pleasure,  at  the  oaths  and  ob 
scene  jests  of  the  riff-raff  of  his  party.  He  would  not 
even  suffer  himself  to  be  robbed  of  all  his  hard  earn 
ings  by  the  subscription-paper  whose  name  is  legion 
whenever  a  man  has  the  hardihood  to  announce  himself 
as  a  candidate.  He  would  not  go  down  upon  his  knees 
and  crawl  like  a  fawning  dog  around  the  legs  of  a  man 
for  whom  he  could  have  no  respect,  merely  to  secure  his 
vote  and  influence  in  the  convention  or  at  the  polls. 
Such  was  the  train  of  thought  running  through  his  mind 
as  he  jumped  from  his  buggy  in  front  of  the  Jackson 
Hotel,  and  turned  his  horse  over  to  the  custody  of  his 
landlord. 

Manning  looked  around  with  some  anxiety.  Three 
or  four  boys  were  lolling  on  chairs  in  front  of  the  hotel. 
They  eyed  him  curiously,  and  even  impudently.  One 
of  them  made  some  remark  to  his  companions,  and  then 
all  laughed,  and  Manning  knew  well  enough  that  the 
observation  was  some  ungenerous  comment  on  himself. 
He  felt  as  lonely  as  Martin  Chuzzlewit  and  Mark  Tap- 
ley  when  they  debarked  at  Eden.  But  he  walked  on 
up  the  street,  hoping  he  might  meet  an  acquaintance 


IO2  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

or  happen  upon  some  fortunate  plan  for  introduction  to 
his  work.  He  met  a  bare-footed  girl  carrying  a  tin 
bucket.  She  glanced  at  him  shyly,  and  hurried  on. 
A  ragged  little  urchin  called  to  her  from  across  the 
street,  "  Howd'  ye  do,  Liza,"  and  she  answered,  "  How- 
d'  ye  do,  Charlie,"  and  Manning  envied  them  both  for 
the  gracious  boon  of  knowing  each  other's  name,  while 
he  himself  did  not  even  know  the  name  of  that  dog 
across  the  way.  Further  on,  he  met  an  elderly  gentle 
man,  hobbling  along  under  the  weight  of  several  boards 
on  his  shoulder.  Manning  nodded  patronizingly,  the 
man  grunted,  deposited  about  a  gill  of  tobacco-juice  in 
uncomfortable  proximity  to  the  office-seeker's  foot,  and 
then  veered  down  an  alley  with  his  boards. 

"I '11  hunt  up  my  friend  Gorham,"  thought  Man 
ning,  pausing,  and  considering  which  way  to  turn  ; 
"and  I'll  implore  him  to  help  me  in  my  hour  of  need." 
Just  then  a  hand  was  laid  upon  his  shoulder,  and  he 
turned  around. 

"  Mr.  Manning!  " 

"Mr.  Gorham!" 

These  exclamations  were  made  simultaneously. 
Then  Mr.  Gorham  led  Mr.  Manning  into  his  tin-shop, 
where  they  might  have  a  confidential  conversation 
without  fear  of  being  disturbed,  for  business  was  dis- 
couargingly  dull  on  this  beautiful  day  in  May. 

Mr.  Gorham  was  an  honorable  man,  highly  respected 
by  his  neighbors,  and  had  been  at  one  time  a  local  pol 
itician  of  some  repute.  But  he  was  a  politician  of  the 
old  school.  He  was  foolish  enough  to  think  that  a  man 
had  no  more  right  to  be  a  liar  or  a  knave  in  politics  than 
in  his  bank,  store,  or  church.  As  a  political  manager, 
therefore,  he  was  already  regarded  as  some  "quaint 
and  curious  "  relic  of  antiquity,  worthy  of  preservation 
in  a  museum,  but  no  longer  of  practical  value  to  its 
contemporaries.  He  had  taken  some  interest  in  the 
campaign  in  behalf  of  William  Manning.  He  gave 
Manning  but  little  encouragement,  however. 

"There  are  several  stories  afloat  among  our  people 


CONTRASTS    IN    ELECTIONEERING.  IO3 

which  have  already  seriously  hurt  you  here,"  he  said. 
"  Sawtheaire  has  been  here,  and  has  captured  many  of 
our  voters  and  some  of  our  best  workers.  I  have  taken 
your  part,  and  done  all  I  could  for  you,  but  I  fear  with 
poor  success.  One  thing  they  are  telling  around  town 
is  that  you  said  foreign  immigration  ought  to  be 
checked — that  we  have  all  the  foreign  hash  we  can  di 
gest.  " 

"It  is  false,"  said  Manning,  with  feeling.  "I  said 
no  such  a  thing.  I  have  never  said  a  word  against  for 
eigners  as  a  class,  or  against  their  coming  to  America. 
I  did  say  that  we  ought  to  find  some  way,  if  possible, 
to  protect  ourselves  against  the  criminal  classes.  " 

"Well,  Sawtheaire  circulated  the  report,  and  the 
Germans  and  Irish  are  all  howling  against  you.  They 
swear  they  will  never  support  you,  and  will  not  listen 
when  I  attempt  to  contradict  or  explain  the  report. 
They  might  listen  to  you,  but  I  doubt  it.  What  you 
did  say  is  all  right.  They  will  say  the  same.  But  if 
you  admit  that  much,  most  of  them  will  swear  you  said 
the  whole.  I  suppose  the  best  way  would  be  to  deny 
the  statement  in  toto.  Then  your  denial  will  offset  Saw- 
theaire's  affirmation." 

"I  can't  do  that,"  said  Manning,  promptly. 

"  I  thought  not,"  said  Gorham,  "and  I  admire  you 
for  your  honesty ;  but  I  fear  you  are  a  poor  politi 
cian." 

"  Are  you  sure  that  Sawtheaire  circulated  this  re 
port?"  asked  Manning,  without  appearing  to  notice 
Gorham's  last  statement. 

"The  first  time  I  heard  it  was  the  day  after  he  was 
here.  There  was  considerable  commotion  among  our 
foreign  population  about  it.  When  I  asked  them  for 
their  authority,  they  declined  to  give  it.  But  I  have 
every  reason  to  believe  that  Sawtheaire  is  the  man. 
And  that  is  n't  all.  They  've  started  a  ridiculous  story 
to  the  effect  that  you  said  you  did  n't  propose  to  kiss 
every  dirty-faced  young  one  in  the  county  just  to  get 
office.  And  now  the  women  are  mad.  I  remonstrated 


IO4  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

with  one  of  them  on  the  subject,  when  she  informed  me 
that  she  had  seen  you  once,  and  that  you  were  nothing 
but  a  stiff-necked  fop  any  way." 

Manning  laughed.  He  looked  down  at  his  pants  and 
boots,  and  then  held  out  his  arm  and  looked  at  his 
sleeve.  "Do  I  look  like  a  fop?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  said  Gorham,  "you  do  not — except  in  the 
eyes  of  an  irate  mother.  I  would  advise  you  to  go 
down  the  street  and  kiss  every  tender  shoot  you  meet. 
This  may  win  over  the  mothers  at  any  rate." 

"But  I  didn't  say  it." 

"Some  of  them  believe  you  did,  and  your  enemies 
are  busy  fostering  that  belief.  The  woman  I  spoke  of 
said  she  did  n't  want  to  hear  you  deny  it,  she  had  no  con 
fidence  in  you — had  seen  you,  and  would  n't  put  it  past 
you.  " 

' '  Do  you  believe  such  trifling  reports  as  these  will 
have  any  real  effect  in  this  contest?" 

' '  Most  assuredly  they  will.  The  people  are  swayed 
by  feeling  and  prejudice,  and  allow  themselves  to  be 
controlled  in  conventions  and  elections  by  trifling  things 
which  have  no  possible  bearing  on  the  fitness  or  unfit- 
ness  of  a  man  for  office.  Sometimes  it  looks  as  if  the 
people  were  not  fit  to  govern  themselves.  " 

"  Well  now,  seriously,"  said  Manning,  "  what  would 
you  advise  me  to  do  ?  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  the 
best  course  open  to  me  is  to  go  home  and  let  you  man 
age  the  canvass  here  for  me.  I  can't  make  any  sort  of 
headway  against  Sawtheaire's  lies." 

"  No,  you  must  go  "with  me,  now  that  you  are  here, 
and  I  '11  introduce  you  to  some  of  our  best  men.  I  think 
that  your  visit  here  can  be  turned  to  your  advantage, 
though,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  you  are  leaning  on  a  bro 
ken  reed  politically  when  you  trust  your  case  in  my 
hands.  The  fact  is,  I  'm  not  abreast  of  the  age.  They 
call  me  an  old  fogy.  Younger  blood  is  in  the  ascend 
ency.  It  is  unfashionable  now  to  exhibit  scruples  in 
politics.  A  man  who  does  it  is  not  thought  of  as  an 
honest  and  virtuous  man,  but  is  looked  upon  as  a  weak- 


CONTRASTS   IN   ELECTIONEERING.  105 

ling,  and  despised  as  being  deficient  in  backbone.  Back 
bone  at  this  day  means  unblushing  effrontery  in  the 
service  of  the  devil.  If  a  man  forgets  the  counsel  of  his 
father  and  the  tears  of  his  mother,  despises  the  warn 
ings  of  the  pulpit,  and  gets  drunk  or  gambles,  or  does 
some  other  degrading  thing,  he  is  looked  upon  as  a  man 
of  nerve,  a  man  of  backbone,  a  model  of  independence 
of  spirit,  etc. ,  etc.  So  if  a  man  talks  of  honesty  in  pol 
itics,  he  is  considered  as  a  fool.  But  this  long  lecture 
is  to  little  purpose,  for  you  are  old  enough  to  know  all 
this  yourself.  Getting  down  to  business,  I  can  tell  you 
how  you  can  get  a  certain  influence  here,  if  you  want 
it.  But  it  can  not  be  had  without  a  free  expenditure  of 
money." 

"Mr.  Gorham,  "  said  Manning,  looking  his  com 
panion  steadfastly  in  the  face,  ' '  I  am  a  poor  man,  and  I 
can  not  undertake  to  spend  money  lavishly.  While  I 
have  many  friends,  none  are  so  much  interested  in  having 
me  in  office  as  to  back  me  with  a  subscription.  But  if  I 
had  a  million  dollars,  I  would  not  buy  votes.  If  you  refer 
to  the  saloon  influence,  I  want  to  say  now  that  I  won't 
bow  to  the  saloon  power,  I  won't  buy  its  support,  I  ut 
terly  abhor  the  business,  and  I  won't  beg  the  support 
of  those  engaged  in  it.  If  that  beats  me,  I  can  stand 
it.  I  shall  at  any  rate  have  the  blessing  of  an  approv 
ing  conscience." 

So  Mr.  Gorham  went  with  Mr.  Manning  from  store 
to  store,  introducing  him  to  the  business  men  of  Jack 
son,  and  also  stopping  the  few  farmers  they  met  on  the 
streets  and  informing  them  of  the  young  attorney's  can 
didacy.  Manning  was  kindly  received,  and  made  a  fa 
vorable  impression  on  those  he  met.  It  may  be  that 
Mr.  Gorham,  honest  and  faithful  man  though  he  was, 
erred  in  some  measure  in  his  judgment  of  his  party. 
All  men  are  not  bad — all  men  are  not  corrupt.  May  it 
not  be  hoped  that  even  a  true  and  upright  man  may 
have  such  a  following  from  those  of  his  own  party  as  to 
enable  him  to  triumph  over  the  corrupt  demagogue  in 
the  caucus  and  at  the  polls  ? 


IO6  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

Manning  left  Jackson  in  no  happy  state  of  mind. 
He  was  both  disgusted  and  discouraged.  Though  a 
man  of  pure  morals  and  high  ideals,  it  must  be  admit 
ted  that  he  was  not  yet  prepared  to  soar  away  into 
glory.  He  was  of  the  earth,  earthy.  It  might  be  just 
as  well  to  say  frankly  that  Manning's  bump  of  com- 
bativeness  had  attained  a  considerable  development,  and 
that,  for  this  reason  perhaps,  he  was  not  indulging  in  a 
train  of  charitable  thoughts  towards  Sawtheaire  on  this 
particular  occasion.  The  fact  is,  he  had  about  deter 
mined  to  resort  to  an  ancient  and  approved  method  of 
dealing  with  an  offender,  which  consisted  in  the  applica 
tion  of  the  knuckles  to  the  eyes  of  the  offender.  But  that 
would  be  a  lasting  disgrace,  he  reflected.  People  would 
say  that  Sawtheaire  had  outwitted  him — that  he  was 
mad  about  it — that  no  just  cause  for  quarrel  existed. 
What  kind  of  a  reputation  would  he  enjoy  in  his  county 
if  the  news  should  be  published  abroad  that  William 
Manning,  candidate  for  an  office  whose  incumbent  is 
elected  to  maintain  the  law,  had  himself  become  a  vio 
lator  of  the  law  and  amenable  to  punishment  ?  And  then 
the  other  fellow  might  black  his  eye !  It  would  be  alto 
gether  a  disgraceful  spectacle,  and  the  people  would 
never  hear  the  actual  facts.  Sawtheaire  would  lie  about 
them,  and  his  admirers  would  believe  him.  No,  the 
only  course  open  to  Manning  was  to  bear  all  things  and 
endure  all  things,  and  go  on  quietly  about  his  business. 

"Whoa!"  he  cried  to  his  horse,  as  he  was  about 
to  cross  a  bridge.  "  Why,  my  little  fellow,  what  is 
the  matter?  Whoa!  I  tell  you!"  This  to  the  horse, 
which  thereupon  came  to  a  full  stop.  Then  to  the  little 
boy:  "What's  the  matter  ?  What  are  you  crying  for?" 

"  Pa  gave  me  a  dollar"  (here  a  heartrending  sob), 
"and  I  put  it  into  this  here  pocket  "  (here  another  sob), 
"and  there  was  a  hole  in  my  pocket"  (another  sob), 
"and  I  dropped  it  into  the  creek"  (here  a  tremendous 
sob). 

Now  the  spectacled  critic  may  rear  back  on  his  dig 
nity,  and  demand  to  be  told  what  had  dropped  into  the 


CONTRASTS    IN    ELECTIONEERING.  107 

creek — the  money,  or  the  pocket,  or  the  hole.  But  no 
such  information  was  required  by  William  Manning's 
uncritical  mind.  The  distressed  urchin  had  lost  his 
silver  dollar. 

Poor  little  fellow !  It  was  a  sad  accident  for  him. 
Possibly  Jay  Gould  might  sob  at  the  loss  of  five  mil 
lions.  Still  he  would  remain  a  millionaire,  after  all. 
But  this  .little  bare-footed  urchin  had  lost  his  all — he 
was  penniless — and  all  his  grand  expectations  ,  were 
dashed  to  the  ground.  What  visions  of  candies  and 
nuts  and  marbles,  and  other  articles  of  merchandise 
such  as  delight  the  heart  of  a  boy,  had  been  entertained 
by  him  when  first  he  clutched  his  prize  with  his  little 
fist !  But  a  sympathetic  heart  was  now  near.  William 
Manning  jumped  from  his  buggy  and  went  down  to 
the  creek,  and  searched  for  the  silver  dollar  at  the  bot 
tom  of  its  muddy  waters.  The  coin  was  not  to  be 
found.  Then  the  attorney  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket 
and  found  a  silver  dollar,  which  was  soon  transferred  to 
the  fist  of  the  sobbing  boy.  Instantly  there  Was  a 
great  calm.  The  breast  was  no  longer  convulsed,  and 
the  sobs  were  heard  no  more. 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  cried  the  urchin,  drawing  his 
shirt-sleeve  across  his  nose.  "  Please,  sir,  what's  your 
name,  sir?" 

"Never  mind  about  my  name,  my  little  fellow. 
Only  be  a  good  boy  and  make  a  good  man. "  Manning 
climbed  into  his  buggy  and  drove  away.  "If  he  knew 
my  name, "  thought  Manning,  "some  one  would  say  I 
was  out  electioneering,  and  wanted  to  buy  a  reputation 
for  generosity  with  a  silver  dollar;  and,  God  knows, 
that  was  not  my  object." 

This  incident  diverted  Manning's  mind  from  the 
unpleasant  subject  which  he  had  been  considering,  and 
he  concluded  to  drive  two  or  three  miles  out  of  the 
way,  that  he  might  hunt  for  squirrels  in  the  woods 
northeast  of  Wellington,  along  the  banks  of  Honey 
Creek.  After  crossing  the  bridge  in  the  bottoms,  he 
drove  along  the  road  around  the  point  of  the  first  hill, 


1O8  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSAfcV. 

and  there,  as  we  have  already  seen,  tied  his  horse  to  a 
hickory  tree.  He  went  back  to  the  creek  and  followed 
the  foot-path  westward.  Here,  in  days  gone  by,  he 
had  found  and  killed  many  a  squirrel.  He  walked 
along,  slowly  and  cautiously,  looking  among  the  tree- 
tops  for  the  innocent  objects  of  his  search.  "Ah! 
there  you  are  !  "  he  thought,  and  instantly  his  gun  was 
pointed  at  his  would-be  victim.  But  whisk  !  went  the 
bushy  tail,  and  the  squirrel  was  out  of  sight.  Then 
came  the  clapping  of  hands,  and  laughter,  and  a  voice 
crying  out :  "Bravo!  bravo!  little  fellow !"  and  Wil 
liam  Manning  realized  for  the  first  time  that  some  one 
was  with  him  in  the  depths  of  these  woods.  He 
looked  towards  the  little  vale  already  described,  and 
there  he  beheld  Miss  Katie  Anderson,  under  the  elm 
tree,  where  Sawtheaire  afterwards  saw  her. 

Manning  lifted  his  hat,  hurried  forward,  and  was 
soon  seated  near  her  on  the  moss  and  grass  which  cov 
ered  the  ground.  He  dropped  his  hat  and  gun  at  his 
side,  and  forgot  that  he  had  been  at  Jackson,  or  that 
there  was  such  a  thing  in  Illinois  as  the  office  of  State's 
attorney  or  that  his  horse  was  probably  pawing  the 
ground  and  champing  his  bit  in  his  impatience  to  get 
back  to  the  stable. 

Katie's  hat  was  lying  on  the  grass  at  a  distance 
from  her.  In  her  lap  was  a  copy  of  Wood's  Botany. 
Upon  her  lap  and  at  her  feet  lay  a  profusion  of  violets 
and  other  wild  flowers  of  the  season.  She  had  just 
torn  one  blossom  open  that  she  might  have  a  botanical 
peep  into  its  mysteries.  She  did  look  charming,  to  be 
sure.  Manning  sat  there,  looking  at  her  very  tenderly, 
with  a  desperate  purpose  forming  itself  in  his  mind. 
But  Katie  kept  picking  her  flowers  into  pieces  with 
trembling  fingers,  and  had  not  the  faintest  idea  that  he 
was  looking  at  her  so  lovingly  and  tenderly. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

AT    MOSSY    BANK. 

Perhaps  the  reader  would  like  to  be  informed  what 
Katie  was  doing  in  this  quiet  retreat  at  the  hour  of  five 
o'clock  on  this  Saturday  afternoon  in  May. 

It  was  during  the  preceding  August,  while  Henry 
Anderson  was  living  on  his  farm,  that  Katie  was  so 
gallantly  rescued  from  the  jaws  of  a  mad  dog  by  the 
daring  efforts  of  William  Manning.  She  was  sick  for 
several  weeks  as  a  consequence  of  this  adventure,  dur 
ing  a  part  of  which  time  Elizabeth  Oakford  acted  as 
her  companion  and  nurse.  Many  were  the  happy 
hours  spent  by  the  two  friends  in  the  society  of  each 
other,  though  one  of  them  was  confined  to  the  bed,  and 
the  interchange  of  their  confidences  took  place  within 
four  walls.  But  the  longest  road  must  turn  at  last, 
arid  so  in  this  case,  before  Elizabeth  returned  to  Wel 
lington  to  begin  her  career  as  a  teacher  in  the  college, 
Katie  was  so  far  recovered  as  to  b*  able  to  sit  in  a 
rocking  chair,  propped  up  with  pillows,  and  to  enjoy 
the  slight  change  in  scenery  afforded  by  the  transition 
from  the  bed-room  to  the  sitting-room.  After  the  de 
parture  of  Elizabeth,  Katie  continued  to  improve  grad 
ually,  and  was  at  last  able,  with  the  aid  of  a  cane,  to 
go  about  the  house,  and  even  to  visit  the  yard  and  or 
chard,  and  enjoy  the  genial  sunshine  and  the  spicy  air. 

Nor  was  she  forgotten  by  her  friends.  Every  Sat 
urday  afternoon  she  arrayed  herself  in  some  charming 
and  becoming  dress,  arranged  her  hair  with  scrupulous 
care,  and  watched  the  road  for  the  coming  of  Elizabeth  ; 
and  as  the  day  faded  away,  if  Elizabeth  had  not  ap 
peared,  Katie  smothered  her  disappointment  in  the  con 
fident  hope  that  the  next  afternoon  would  bring  her  the 
joy  of  a  visit  from  her  best  and  dearest  friend.  On 

these  visits  Elizabeth  was  invariably  accompanied  by 
I  109 


I  10  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

William  Manning,  Esq. ,  for  a  lady  only  thirty  years  of 
age  could  not,  with  propriety,  venture  unattended  so  far 
from  home,  and  the  lawyer  was  so  self-sacrificing  as  to 
be  ready  to  offer  himself  to  her  in  the  capacity  of  es 
cort.  Once,  when  Katie  had  dressed  herself  in  her  nicest 
white  dress,  and  was  busily  engaged  in  trying  to  make  her 
hair  assume  its  most  fascinating  curves,  Mrs.  Anderson 
looked  on  admiringly,  and  said  to  herself  that  the  affec 
tion  of  the  two  young  women  for  each  other  was  cer 
tainly  as  strong  as  that  which  existed  between  David 
and  Jonathan  ;  and  then  the  thought  flashed  through 
her  mind  that  when  she  was  a  girl  about  Katie's  age, 
she  used  to  put  on  one  of  her  best  dresses,  and  spend 
many  precious  minutes  in  arranging  her  hair,  whenever 
she  knew  that  her  dear  Henry  was  coming  to  see  her ; 
and  then,  with  the  suddenness  of  revelation,  it  occurred 
to  her  that  Katie's  solicitude  for  her  appearance  might 
have  no  connection  whatever  with  Elizabeth  Oakford. 
At  this  point  the  mother  looked  very  grave,  and  her 
thoughts  became  wholly  intangible. 

Thus  the  months  of  August  and  September  passed 
away,  and  it  was  not  till  the  first  of  October  that  the 
Anderson  family  found  themselves  comfortably  estab 
lished  in  their  new  home  at  Wellington.  Here  Eliza 
beth's  visits  became  more  frequent.  But  in  the  city  she 
no  longer  needed  a  chaperon,  and  so  William  Manning 
was  not  called  upon  to  make  his  wonted  self-sacrifices. 
In  theory,  his  visits  must  have  ceased  ;  in  fact,  they  did 
not  cease.  He  developed  a  remarkable  attachment  for 
Katie's  brother  James,  with  an  increasing  interest  in 
his  work  at  the  college,  .and  paid  the  young  student  a 
great  many  visits,  presumably  to  assist  him  with  his 
Latin  and  trigonometry.  During  one  of  these  visits, 
Manning  spent  most  of  the  time  .in  the  parlor  with 
Katie,  endeavoring  to  assist  her  in  some  extraordi 
nary  efforts  at  the  vocalization  of  "Gathering  Shells 
from  the  Seashore,"  and  "Silver  Threads  Among  the 
Gold,"  and  divers  other  heart-rending  compositions; 
arid  when  the  gallant  tenor  departed,  and  Katie  entered 


AT    MOSSY.  BANK.  Ill 

the  sitting-room,  looking  wonderfully  concerned  in  her 
desire  to  appear  unconcerned,  her  brother  pulled 
her  ear,  and  patted  her  cheek,  and  chucked  her 
under  the  chin,  while  a  succession  of  rosy  blushes 
chased  one  another  over  her  face,  and  wanted  to  know 
if  that  was  the  way  William  Manning  proposed  to 
help  a  luckless  fellow  in  his  studies. 

In  the  meantime  Lyman  Sawtheaire,  moved  by  a 
desire  to  render  himself  of  service  to  his  fellow-crea 
tures,  and  convinced  that  James  was  a  promising  youth, 
who  needed,  however,  a  little  encouragement  in  his 
college  work,  visited  James  repeatedly  to  assist  him  in 
acquiring  a  clear  understanding  of  the  meaning  of  sine 
and  cosine,  secant  and  ta'ngent,  and  "rounded  up" 
invariably  with  many  courteous  attentions  to  Miss 
Katie.  He  was  not  a  musician  or  naturalist,  and  con 
sequently  gathered  no  shells  from  the  seashore ;  but  he 
talked  with  Katie  in  the  sitting-room,  or  strolled  with 
her  about  the  yard,  discoursing  on  great  subjects  with 
wonderful  enthusiasm,  and  making  himself  as  agreeable 
as  possible.  On  one  occasion  he  had  beguiled  the  un 
suspecting  damsel  to  a  rude  bench  in  the  seclusion  of  a 
grape-arbor,  and  had  seated  himself  at  one  end  of  the 
bench  while  she  had  taken  her  place  at  the  other,  and 
was  endeavoring  to  devise  a  plan  for  annihilating  the 
distance  between  them,  when  Elizabeth  Oakford,  with 
the  distressing  certainty  of  fate  and  with  unblushing 
assurance,  entered  the  arbor,  greeted  the  young  people 
with  a  pleasant  smile  and  a  gracious  word,  and  planted 
herself  down  at  the  middle  of  the  bench.  Katie  was 
amused,  and  Sawtheaire  was  chagrined.  The  latter, 
satisfied  that  Elizabeth  had  come  to  stay  as  long  as  he 
should,  excused  himself  presently,  and,  with  scowling 
brow,  walked  along  towards  his  office,  administering  a 
kick  to  an  unoffending  dog  at  the  first  corner,  and 
whipping  off  the  heads  of  innocent  weeds  along  the 
sidewalk  as  a  partial  relief  for  his  overcharged  feelings. 
After  he  had  gone,  Elizabeth  talked  very  seriously  to 
Katie,  extolling  Manning  and  disparaging  Sawtheaire, 


112  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

and  even  intimating  that  Katie  herself  was  developing 
rapidly  into  a  heartless  flirt;  whereupon  Katie's  eyes 
flashed  a  little,  and  her  lips  uttered  some  sharp  words  to 
her  friend,  who  maintained  her  imperturbability  of 
temper,  after  which  the  young  girl's  choler  gave  way, 
and  she  fell  on  Elizabeth's  neck  and  cried  in  a  desolate 
sort  of  way  till  Elizabeth  kissed  her  tenderly,  and  the 
sky  cleared  up  and  the  sun  shone  again. 

But  Elizabeth  was  hardly  just  to  sweet  Katie.  For 
the  young  men  of  the  city  and  of  the  college  as  well 
besieged  her  daily  with  importunate  billet-doux,  and 
came  to  see  her  under  pretense  of  visiting  James,  till 
she  must  have  been  more  than  mortal  not  to  have  been 
willing  to  taste,  for  a  short  time  at  least,  the  pleasure 
of  being  universally  admired.  This  was  but  a  ripple  at 
the  surface,  however,  while  the  strong  undercurrent  of 
her  affection  was  flowing  steadily  in  a  single  direction. 

Yes,  all  seemed  to  seek  the  favor  of  this  lovely  girl. 
It  was  not  an  unprecedented  thing  for  her 'to  be  called 
upon  to  choose  among  half  a  dozen  gallant  young  men 
for  a  single  entertainment.  Sometimes  she  solved  the 
difficulty  by  declining  to  go  at  all ;  at  other  times  she 
decided  to  make  an  impartial  distribution  of  her  favors, 
so  that  every  one,  in  the  due  progress  of  events,  should 
be  rewarded  with  her  company,  and  followed  up  this 
decision  by  obliterating  all  old  scores,  and  beginning 
anew  with  William  Manning  as  first  choice.  After  this 
course  had  been  pursued  a  few  times,  it  came  to  be 
generally  understood  that  when  this  young  gentleman 
sought  the  favorite's  company,  all  others  would  have 
to  content  themselves  with  the  beams  of  lesser  stars. 

This  was  attributable,  so  some  of  the  chagrined 
youths  affirmed,  not  to  any  superior  attractiveness  on 
the  part  of  William  Manning,  but  to  the  ungenerous 
and  glaringly  partial  machinations  of  Miss  Oakford  in 
favor  of  the  young  lawyer  and  against  all  others,  even 
her  own  pupils.  And  here  the  mutterings  of  a  rebel 
lion  were  heard  from  the  college  boys.  What  right 
had  their  teacher  to  discriminate  against  her  own 


AT    MOSSY    BANK.  113 

pupils,  who  were  certainly  gentlemen  of  beauty  and 
brains,  in  favor  of  an  addle-pated  lawyer,  an  aristocratic 
pettifogger  from  the  city?  They  would  drive  her  from 
the  college,  they  would.  They  would  make  the  class 
room  so  hot  for  her  that  she  would  resign  her  chair  and 
flee  to  the  shady  side  of  an  iceberg  to  cool  off.  They 
would  assert  the  dignity  of  their  manhood,  and  teach 
professors  to  uphold  their  students  in  preference  to  their 
impudent  competitors,  even  in  affairs  of  the  heart. 
But  when  Elizabeth  confronted  them  in  the  class-room 
they  could  not  mistreat  her,  so  strong  was  her  hold 
upon  their  affections,  and  they  gave  up  the  contest 
finally,  with  the  remark  that,  if  Miss  Oakford  had  pre 
destinated  a  match  between  Manning  and  Katie,  it  be 
hooved  them,  while  yet  it  was  day,  to  cease  their 
resistance  to  the  inevitable,  and  to  lavish  their  smiles 
upon  other  sighing  beauties. 

But  Lyman  Sawtheaire  was  not  as  easily  conquered 
as  the  college  boys,  and  swore  by  all  the  gods  of  cloud- 
capped  Olympus  that  he  would  not  give  up  his  prize 
without  a  deadly  struggle. 

In  the  meantime  Katie  was  busily  engaged  with  her 
college  course.  A  daily  diet  of  Latin  and  Greek, 
science  and  mathematics,  was  an  excellent  antidote  for 
the  insidious  poison  of  love.  In  the  midst  of  her 
manifold  cares  and  perplexities  of  mind  and  heart,  she 
remained  the  same  joyful,  rosy-cheeked,  high-spirited 
lass  she  had  been  when  living  at  the  farm. 

There  are  those  who  seem  to  imagine  that  a  hard 
student  is  necessarily  one  of  a  long,  thin  face  and  cadaver 
ous  look,  whose  every  feature  speaks  unerringly  of  ex 
haustive  work,  whose  skin  has  that  pale  and  sickly  hue 
supposed  to  be  the  result  of  deep  thought,  intense  appli 
cation,  and  the  burning  of  much  "midnight  oil,"  and 
whose  eyes  have  become  enfeebled  to  such  an  extent 
as  to  require  the  use  of  glasses,  especially  when  a  great 
impression  is  to  be  produced  upon  a  stranger  or  a 
crowd.  Katie  was  a  living  refutation  of  this  gloomy 
theory.  She  was,  indeed,  a  hard  student,  and  had 


I  14  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

manifested  from  the  beginning  a  determination  not  to 
be  satisfied  with  the  third  or  fourth  or  even  the  second 
place  in  her  classes ;  but  her  rosy  cheeks  and  fresh 
complexion,  her  sparkling  eyes  and  well-developed 
muscles,  bore  ample  testimony  to  the  fact  that  at  those 
solemn  hours  of  the  night  when  the  scholar  is  supposed 
to  be  busily  engaged  with  his  studies  she  was  tucked 
away  snugly  in  her  bed,  enjoying  the  refreshing  influ 
ences  of  "nature's  sweet  restorer — balmy  sleep." 
Nor  was  she  indifferent  to  those  sports  which  quicken 
the  respiration  and  throw  the  whole  machinery  of  the 
body  into  such  activity  as  to  enliven  the  spirit,  and 
stimulate  the  mind  for  additional  mental  achievements. 

Early  in  the  spring  she  began  the  study  of  botany. 
This  became  for  her  a  highly  attractive  study.  She 
found  an  ever-increasing  delight,  not  only  in  acquiring 
a  knowledge  of  the  learned  names,  terms  and  defini 
tions  of  this  science,  but  also  in  considering  the  mani 
fold  beauties  of  the  vegetable  world  in  their  intimate 
relationship  to  the  Grand  First  Cause,  the  Maker  of  the 
heavens  and  earth,  and  all  that  in  them  is.  Miss  Oak- 
ford  advised  her  class  not  to  be  satisfied  with  the  state 
ments  of  the  text-book  they  were  using,  but  to  verily 
its  statements  by  studying  nature  for  themselves,  in 
their  yards,  along  the  highways,  in  the  forests  and  on 
the  prairies.  This  experimental  knowledge,  they  were 
told,  would  enable  them  to  comprehend  the  science 
much  better  than  they  could  ever  hope  to  do  by  the 
mere  abstract  statements  of  a  book.  On  several  occa 
sions  Katie  and  others  of  her  class,  pursuant  to  this 
advice,  had  gone  to  the  prairies  south  of  Wellington, 
and  to  the  forests  north  and  northeast  of  the  city,  in 
search  of  leaves  and  plants  and  flowers  for  analysis  and 
study.  Every  such  trip  had  furnished  them  with  a  new 
leaf,  or  a  new  flower,  or  a  new  thought,  and  had  re 
vealed  to  them  more  fully  the  harmony  and  the  diver 
sity  of  the  objects  of  the  natural  world. 

And  thus  it  is  that  Katie  came  to  be  in  the  woods 
south  of  Honey  Creek  on  the  last  Saturday  in  May. 


AT    MOSSY    BANK.  1 1 5 

She  and  one  of  her  class-mates,  Jennie  Ingleside  by 
name,  had  agreed  to  make  another  of  their  visits  to  the 
woods.  So,  after  dinner,  Katie  tied  on  her  hat.  pos 
sessed  herself  of  her  botanical  outfit,  consisting  of  a 
botany,  knife  and  lens,  gave  her  mother  one  fond 
good-bye  kiss,  and  hastened  away,  promising  to  be 
back  by  supper  time  at  the  latest. 

Unfortunately,  Katie  found  Jennie  out  of  sorts. 
She  had  broken  a  beautiful  vase,  for  which  act  of  care 
lessness  her  mother  had  given  her  a  severe  scolding. 
First  she  had  gone  to  the  garden  and  gathered  a  choice 
assortment  of  posies ;  then  she  had  brought  them  into 
the  parlor  and  laid  them  upon  the  marble-topped  table; 
then  she  had  taken  the  beautiful  vase,  which  contained 
a  herbarium  gathered  several  days  before,  and,  singing 
like  a  lark,  had  skipped  gaily  out  of  the  house  to 
empty  out  the  old  flowers  to  make  room  for  the  fresh 
ones,  and  had  stumbled  and  fallen  at  full  length,  break 
ing  the  vase  into  three  principal  and  a  great  many 
smaller  pieces.  And  her  mother  had  scolded  her  for 
her  carelessness,  and  reminded  her  of  the  fact  that  her 
father  had  bought  that  vase  at  Chicago  on  one  of  the 
memorable  trips  when  he  had  met  the  late  Senator 
Douglas,  and  would  go  down  into  his  grave  sorrowing 
over  the  destruction  of  that  fragile  piece  of  glass.  True, 
Jennie  had  skinned  her  knee ;  but  nature  had  provided 
a  remedy  for  a  skinned  knee,  and  none  for  a  broken 
vase.  And  so  Mrs.  Ingleside  had  rehearsed  the  history 
of  the  vase,  and  prophesied  the  helpless  and  eternal 
poverty  of  the  man  who,  unfortunately  for  himself, 
should  marry  Jennie.  She  had  scolded  away  with 
great  volubility,  and  according  to  the  most  approved 
precedents. 

Thereupon  Jennie  had  indulged  in  the  usual  amount 
of  tears  and  sobs  for  such  an  occasion.  She  was  evenx 
now  thinking  to  herself  how  bad  her  mother  would 
feel  if  she  should  throw  off  a  tyrannical  yoke  and  leave 
home  never  to  be  heard  of  more,  or  should  throw  her 
self  into  the  mill-pond,  or  do  some  other  terrible  and 


Il6  A    SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

heart-rending  act  to  punish  her  mother  for  scolding  her 
beloved  child.  But  somehow,  every  thought  of  such  a 
fearful  act  of  vengeance  was  coupled  with  the  expecta 
tion  that  some  intervening  act  of  Providence  would 
prevent  the  final  consummation  of  the  catastrophe, 
after  matters  had  gone  far  enough  to  give  her  mother  a 
good  scare  and  make  her  very,  very  sorry. 

So  Jennie  was  in  no  mood  for  a  trip  into  the  woods. 
The  heavens,  though  bright  enough  elsewhere,  had  the 
leaden-gray  hue  of  the  novelist  just  above  the  Ingleside 
premises.  The  mother,  who  seemed  to  be  willing 
now  to  conciliate  her  daughter,  told  that  injured 
young  woman  to  get  her  hat  and  go  with  Katie 
to  the  woods,  as  she  had  agreed  to  do.  But  Jennie 
perversely  declined  to  go.  "  I  '11  stay  at  home,"  she 
said  to  herself,  ' '  and  grow  up  like  a  weed,  and  mother 
will  have  nobody  to  blame  but  herself  for  it — that 's 
what  I '11  do!" 

But  Katie  walked  away  from  the  cloud  and  into  the 
sunshine.  Should  she  abandon  her  trip  to  the  woods  ? 
She  did  not  answer  that  question.  There  was  as  yet 
no  well  defined  purpose  in  her  mind — she  might  goon, 
or  she  might  go  home,  or  she  might  visit  her  beloved 
teacher.  She  sauntered  along  slowly  in  the  direction 
of  the  woods,  forgetting  soon  enough  the  distress  of  poor 
Jennie  and  her  own  lack  of  a  companion,  under  the 
cheering  influence  of  the  genial  sunshine  which  threw 
its  glory  over  weed  and  stump  and  flower,  and  the  old 
rail  fence  as  well,  and  exalted  them  into  things  of  rich 
est  beauty.  Even  the  dog-fennel,  which  grew  so  vig 
orously  on  each  side  of  the  road,  and  which  would  have 
been  so  unsavory  in  a  parlor  and  inharmonious  in  a 
wedding-bell,  seemed  here  to  be  a  fitting  part  of  God's 
creation,  and  to  bear  well  its  humble  part  in  the  grand 
whole:.  The  air  was  filled  with  the  music  of  happy  birds 
and  busy  bees.  For  Katie  it  was  the  occasion  of  which 
Wordsworth  has  written  so  graphically  and  tenderly  : 

There  was  a  time  when  meadow,  grove  and  stream, 
The  earth,  and  every  common  sight 


At    MOSSY    BANK.  117 

To  me  did  seem 
Apparelled  in  celestial  light, 
The  glory  and  the  freshness  of  a  dream. 

And  so  Katie  walked  slowly  onward,  gathering  a 
flower  here  and  another  yonder,  and  humming  to  her 
self  some  sweet  old  tune  in  harmony  with  the  day.  At 
length  she  found  herself  at  the  point  where  the  high 
way  entered  the  woods,  and  whence  it  pursued  a  devi 
ous  course  between  storm-beaten  oaks  and  elms,  along 
the  depression  between  two  hills,  till  it  reached  the  foot 
of  the  hills,  and,  by  a  sudden  turn  to  the  left,  disclosed 
to  the  traveler  the  bank  of  Honey  Creek.  Perhaps  she 
ought  to  return  home  now,  Katie  thought.  But  no ! 
she  must  have  that  clump  of  violets  yonder  at  the  angle 
of  the  road.  How  delicate  their  fragrance  !  And  now 
she  must  return.  But  ah  !  yonder  is  another  tempter — • 
a  little  yellow  blossom,  where-  the  road  debouches 
around  the  hill  to  the  creek.  Surely  she  can  not  turn 
back  without  taking  possession  of  such  a  prize !  As  she 
plucks  it  from  its  delicate  stem,  she  looks  up  and  sees 
the  clear  waters  of  Honey  Creek,  running  along  softly 
over  their  pebbly  bed — softly,  but  not  noiselessly,  for 
there  comes  to  her  ears  a  musical  ripple  as  some  ob 
struction  impedes  for  a  moment  the  progress  of  the 
water.  "Here  I  am  !"  she  said.  "  There's  no  use  in 
going  back  now.  It  is  only  a  short  distance  over  to 
Mossy  Bank,  and  I  '11  go  over  there,  and  see  what  I 
can  find."  (Mossy  Bank  was  the  name  given  by  the 
school-girls  to  the  little  dell  where  William  Manning 
found  her,  as  shown  in  the  preceding  chapter.) 

She  followed  the  winding  path  till  she  came  to 
Mossy  Bank.  She  had  been  there  before.  At  one 
time  her  class  had  come  to  this  place  for  a  picnic,  and 
a  grand  day  of  it  had  been  theirs.  Here  she  felt  very 
much  at  home,  and  not  at  all  lonely,  without  companion 
or  escort,  at  this  hour  of  the  day. 

The  birds  sang  to  her,  and  the  waters  talked  to  her, 
and  every  little  flower  looked  at  her  with  an  unvoiced 
welcome.  It  did  seem  wicked  to  tear  these  trembling 


Il8  A     SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

beauties  away  from  their  mossy  homes  ;  but  the  interests 
of  science  seemed  to  demand  the  act,  and  she  gathered 
therefore  a  handful  of  stems  and  blossoms,  and,  having 
seated  herself  under  a  large  elm  tree  and  thrown  her 
hat  at  her  side,  proceeded  to  open  her  book,  and  begin 
the  study  of  the  wonders  she  had  found.  She  had  not 
attained  that  age  at  which  the  matronly  dignity  of 
twisting  the  hair  into  a  knot  at  the  back  of  the  head  was 
required  by  the  tyranny  of  fashion.  So  a  wealth  of  dark 
brown  hair,  soft  and  beautiful,  fell  over  her  shoulders. 
The  breeze  toyed  with  it  like  a  lover,  and  blew  it  upon 
her  cheeks  and  over  her  eyes,  till  she  would  have  to 
take  her  hands,  and  smooth  it  back  from  her  face  and 
behind  her  ears,  or  adjust  the  comb  by  which  it  was 
partly  kept  in  place.  But  old  Zephyrus  was  very  in 
sistent,  and  was  soon  at  his  pranks  again,  and  seemed 
to  delight  in  ruffling  the  hair  and  kissing  the  cheeks  of 
this  fair  maiden. 

"  Only  a  meek  little  violet,"  she  thought  as  she  held 
up  a  fragile  blossom  before  her  admiring  eyes.  "  Now 
if  it  was  a  lily,  I  might  say,  '  Not  even  Solomon  in  all 
his  glory.'  I  believe  I  '11  say  it  any  way.  My  violet  is 
as  sweet  as  a  lily.  Could  man  color  a  robe  as  God  has 
painted  this  flower  ?  And  then  how  pure  it  is !  Never 
a  thought  of.  wrong !  And  that  is  more  than  you  can  say 
of  Solomon,  for  he  was  a  wretched  old  case,  even  ac 
cording  to  his  own  story." 

Then  she  dissected  the  flower  and  analyzed  it,  and 
found  it  still  more  wonderful  when  under  her  lens  than 
she  had  thought  it  to  be,  but  not  more  beautiful — not 
more  beautiful. 

Suddenly  she  heard  a  slight  click.  It  was  different 
from  the  voices  of  nature  which  had  been  filling  her  ears 
without  attracting  her  attention.  She  looked  up.  Man 
ning  was  just  m  the  act  of  raising  his  gun  to  his  shoul 
der.  He  brought  itup  cautiously,  and  aimed  at  some 
object  in  an  oak  tree  just  before  him.  Katie's  eyes 
sought  the  tree  in  the  direction  of  the  gun-barrel,  and  she. 
caught  the  glimpse  of  something  like  a  brush  as  it  was  sud- 


AT    MOSSY    BANK.  119 

denly  whisked  out  of  sight.  Manning  lowered  his  gun 
with  a  look  of  disappointment,  but  Katie  laughed,  and 
clapped  her  hands,  and  shouted,  ' '  Bravo  !  bravo  !  little 
fellow!  "  apostrophising  not  the  stalwart  young  lawyer, 
but  the  possessor  of  that  frisky  brush  of  a  tail.  It  seems 
as  if  Katie  must  have  been  the  guardian  angel  of  the 
squirrel  kind,  for  it  is  certain  that  squirrels  were  in  no 
danger  from  Manning's  gun  for  the  remainder  of  that 
day. 

"  All  alone  in  the  woods,  Miss  Anderson  ?  "  he  said 
inquiringly,  as  he  seated  himself  on  the  grass  beside  her. 
"You  surely  are  a  brave  girl,  or  you  would  not  thus 
defy  the  beasts  and  spooks  of  the  forest." 

"  Oh,  I  have  n't  seen  anything  fiercer  than  the  squir 
rel  you  tried  to  kill,"  she  said.  •  "  And  as  for  spooks — 
they  do  not  show  themselves  in  broad  daylight,  I  hope. 
At  least  I  haven't  seen  anything  /would  call  a  spook," 
she  added,  with  a  slight  rising  inflection  on  the  last 
word,  and  a  sly  glance  at  his  face. 

"An  apparition  then,"  he  said,  laughing.  "An 
unexpected  apparition  !  A  harmless  sort  of  a  Nimrod  ! 
But  may  I  inquire  what  you  are  doing  here,  all  alone, 
this  afternoon  ?" 

"  Why,  do  n't  you  see  ?  I  am  a  student  of  botany, 
Mr.  Manning,  and  have  gathered  these  stems  and  blos 
soms  to  see  how  they  are  made  and  try  to  find  out  what 
they  are  made  for.  Mr.  Manning,  I  wish  you  would 
turn  the  safe  end  of  that  gun  towards  me,  if  it  has  a  safe 
end.  The  thing  might  go  ofT.  And  I  'm  not  yet 
through  studying  botany,  as  you  should  know." 

Mr.  Manning  apologized  for  his  carelessness,  and 
placed  the  gun  at  a  respectful  distance,  with  the  breech 
toward  Katie. 

"  Arc  you  sure.  Mr  Manning,"  asked  Katie,  "that 
the  gun  will  not  shoot  backward  ?  I  am  not  afraid  of 
beasts  or  spooks,  or — or — of  apparitions  either,  but  I 
confess  I  have  a  wholesome  fear  of  guns." 

"  I  will  insure  you  against  harm,  Miss  Anderson," 
said  her  companion. 


I2O  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

"Miss  Anderson!"  said  Katie  contemptuously. 
"My  best  friends  do  not  call  me  Miss  Anderson.  It 
sounds  so  formal,  and  makes  one  feel  so  very,  very  an 
cient.  Father  says  I  'm  a  mere  child  yet,  so  please 
don't  Miss  Anderson  me  any  more." 

"  Well, 'we  will  not  quarrel  over  that, "  he  answered. 
' '  It  shall  be  Miss  Katie,  or  simply  Katie,  by  your 
leave,  except  on  great  occasions  when  a  more  formal 
and  knightly  method  of  address  is  demanded." 

Just  then  there  came  a  crackling  sound,  as  of  the 
breaking  of  dry  twigs,  from  the  bluff  above  them,  and  a 
stone  rolled  down  the  precipice  within  a  few  inches  of 
Manning's  feet.  They  both  turned  and  looked  at  the 
place  whence  the  sound  had  proceeded. 

"  I  thought  I  saw  a  tremor  of  those  bushes,"  said 
Manning.  "  Game  there  of  some  sort  ;  and  I  wonder 
what  it  is — rabbit,  wolf,  dog,  or  bear.  It  would  be  in 
teresting  to  fire  into  those  bushes  at  a  venture,  and  then 
hunt  for  the  game.  My  gun  ought  to  be  discharged 
any  way  before  going  to  the  city. "  He  took  up  his  gun 
and  held  it  carelessly  under  his  arm. 

"No,  no,  Mr.  Manning — please  don't,"  pleaded 
Katie.  "  You  do  n't  know  what  it  is.  It  may  be  fath 
er's  dog  or  somebody's  calf,  in  which  event  your  sport 
would  be  costly  enough,  I  assure  you.  And  then  sup 
pose  it  should  turn  out  to  be  a  human  being — then  you 
would  be  hanged  or  imprisoned  for  murder." 

Manning  raised  the  gun  to  his  shoulder,  without 
cocking  it,  however,  and  pointed  it  deliberately  at  the 
bushes  where  the  agitation  had  appeared.  Thereupon 
two  events  occurred  simultaneously.  Katie  sprang  to 
Mr.  Manning's  side  and  grasped  the  gun-barrel,  while 
the  shaking  of  the  brush  on  the  bluff  and  the  rattling  of 
pebbles  therefrom  indicated  the  precipitate  retreat  of 
some  object  from  a  dangerous  situation.  When  Saw- 
theaire  saw  Manning  aiming  his  gun  in  his  direction, 
he  departed  unceremoniously  from  the  brink  of  the 
precipice,  and  did  not  return  till  satisfied  that  he  was  no 
longer  in  danger  of  becoming  a  victim  of  a  random  shot. 


AT    MOSSY    BANK.  121! 

Manning  laughed  at  Katie's  concern,  and  offered  to 
let  her  have  the  gun  during  the  remainder  of  the  after 
noon,  which  offer  she  declined,  contenting  herself  with 
exacting  a  promise  from  him  to  make  no  more  threat 
ening  demonstrations  with  the  deadly  weapon.  They 
decided  that  the  disturber  of  their  peace  must  have  been 
a  rabbit,  and  they  seated  themselves,  and  resumed  their 
conversation. 

' '  And  where  have  you  been  to-day,  Mr.  Man 
ning  ?  "  inquired  Katie. 

"I  have  been  to  Jackson,   searching  for  votes." 
' '  Did  you  find  them  ?  ' ' 

"A  few,  I  think.  Yet,  I  must  confess  that  I  am 
not  skilled  in  such  affairs.  Wherever  I  go,  Mr.  Saw- 
theaire  has  been  before  me.  He  has  the  happy  faculty 
of  capturing  alike  the  good,  bad  and  indifferent.  He 
is  all  things  to  all  men.  He  baits  his  hook  according 
to  the  fish  to  be  caught.  If  he  wants  to  catch  a  drink 
ing  man,  he  baits  his  hook  with  a  treat ;  if  he  wants  to 
catch  a  temperance  man,  he  baits  his  hook  with  a 
homily  on  the  evils  of  intemperance,  always  referring 
to  a  certain  temperance  speech  he  made  once  upon  a 
time  before  the  Good  Templars.  It  does  seem  to  me 
that  the  people  ought  to  have  found  him  out  by  this 
time.  But  they  haven't.  His  course  of  double-deal 
ing  is  unparalleled." 

"If  he  acts  in  that  way,"  said  Katie,  "  they  will 
find  him  out  sooner  or  later.  If  he  drinks  or  is  in  favor 
of  saloons,  I  'm  against  him,"  she  continued  indignantly. 
"But  I  believe  I'm  in  favor  of  you  any  way,  Mr.  Man 
ning.  You  're  not  a  hypocrite,  are  you  ?  " 

"That  is  a  hard  question,"  answered  Manning  in 
some  perplexity,  and  yet  evidently  well  pleased.  "If 
I  say  yes,  I  sound  my  own  condemnation  ;  and  if  I  say 
no,  I  make  myself  a  hypocrite  by  the  very  utterance  of 
that  word.  I  believe  every  person  has  some  of  the  base 
metal  of  hypocrisy  in  his  composition.  The  difference 
is  in  the  per  cent. — some  are  two  per  cent.,  and  some 
ninety-nine  per  cent." 


122  A    SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

"Why,  Mr.  Manning,  do  you  dare  to  insinuate 
that — that — I — I  mean,  that  Miss  Oakford  is  part 
hypocrite?" 

"I  do  not  mean  to  insinuate  anything,  Miss  Katie. 
If  I  were  called  upon  to  express  my  opinion  as  to  Eliza 
beth  Oakford,  so  great  is  my  regard  for  her  that  I  would 
say  there  was  very  little  of  hypocrisy  in  her  make-up 
— say  about  one  per  cent.,  or  even  less." 

"Mr.  Manning,  I  think  Miss  Oakford  is  perfect." 

"That  is  certainly  a  great  point  in  her  favor,"  he 
said  gallantly.  "She  must  be  an  extraordinary  woman 
to  win  such  a  compliment  from  such  a  girl.  And  I 
want  to  thank  you  a  thousand  times  for  favoring  me  as 
against  Mr.  Sawtheaire."  It  was  true  Katie  could  not 
vote  or  help  him  in  the  convention.  But  as  he  looked 
into  her  sweet,  innocent  face,  and  listened  to  her  soft, 
musical  voice,  he  deliberately  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  he  would  rather  have  her  favor  than  the  office  of 
State's  attorney,  provided  always  that  it  was  impossible 
to  have  both,  and  he  was  called  upon  to  make  his  choice 
between  the  two.  It  occurred  to  him,  however,  that 
if  he  were  sure  of  the  office,  he  might  venture  to  make 
some  delicate  and  tender  observations  and  declarations, 
which  seemed  to  be  unadvisable  in  the  present  depleted 
state  of  his  treasury.  They  sat  for  a  few  moments  in 
silence,  then  he  spoke  again  : 

' '  Katie,  I  would  rather  have  you  in  my  favor  than 
to  have  the  office."  Now  there  was  nothing  remarka 
ble  or  alarming  in  this  statement,  in  and  of  itself  con 
sidered.  But  the  tone  in  which  the  words  were  spoken 
was  certainly  different  from  that  of  ordinary  conversation, 
and  poor  Katie  became  almost  frightened.  Manning 
looked  at  her  so  very  tenderly  as  to  increase  her 
timidity,  and  she  immediately  fell  to  work  vigorously 
on  another  poor  little  unoffending  violet. 

"  I  tried  to  get  father  to  work  for  you,"  she  said 
quickly,  seeking  at  least  a  temporary  breathing  spell 
and  opportunity  for  collecting  her  thoughts,  by  directing 
attention  to  her  father.  But  Manning  was  not  to  be  put 


AT    MOSSY    BANK.  123 

offin  this  way.  He  had  great  respect  for  Henry  Ander 
son,  but  he  was  not  at  this  instant  a  suitor  for  Henry 
Anderson's  favor.  Every  thought  of  his  impecuniosity 
had  vanished,  and  he  had  now  but  one  thought,  and 
that  was  that  he  was  deeply  and  hopelessly  in  love  with 
this  dearest  and  sweetest  of  girls.  And  think  you  that 
our  innocent  little  botanist  had  no  intimation  of  the 
situation  ?  That  she  did  not  understand  what  was 
meant  by  the  tremor  and  tenderness  of  William  Man 
ning's  voice  ?  Or  that  she  did  not  comprehend  what 
was  about  to  follow,  when  he  moved  a  little  closer  to 
her  side,  and  took  her  unresisting  hand  in  his  ?  It  is 
safe  to  presume  that  Katie  was  not  offended  at  this  act  of 
familiarity.  It  would  be  ill-advised  to  say  that  she  was 
unwilling  to  hear  what  he  was  about  to  whisper  into  her 
ear.  It  would  be  untrue  to  intimate  that  her  heart  was 
not  in  a  flutter,  and  that  she  was  not  trying  to  formu 
late  a  dignified  affirmative  answer.  But  when  he  put 
his  arm  around  her,  and  told  her  the  old,  old  story  of 
love,  and  when  he  said  she  was  the  sweetest  and  love 
liest  of  all  womankind,  and  that  he  never,  never  could 
live  Avithout  her,  the  dignity  of  our  precious  Katie,  and 
the  formality  of  her  answer,  and  the  timidity  of  her 
heart,  were  all  gone — all  gone — she  did  just  what  our 
sweethearts  did,  my  masculine  readers,  on  a  similar 
occasion — she  dropped  her  head  upon  his  shoulder,  and 
blushed  when  he  lifted  her  head  and  kissed  her  lips,  and 
for  a  long  time  uttered  not  a  word.  She  was  ineffably 
happy,  and  could  not  speak.  Her  love  stood  confessed 
without  the  need  of  an  affirmative  "Yes."  But  be 
fore  they  left  that  spot,  she  did  say  "yes,"  and  the  two 
were  betrothed  to  each  other  for  life,  and  thought — 
poor,  blind  children — that  nothing  could  sever  the  tie. 
At  last,  as  the  shadows  began  to  gather  around 
them,  they  left  this  secluded  spot,  hallowed  to  them 
forevermore,  and  set  forth  on  their  return  to  Welling 
ton.  As  they  rode  along  the  highway,  happy  in  the 
dawn  of  their  mutual  love,  William  Manning  unfolded 
to  her  his  plans  and  expectations  in  life.  She  ex- 


124  A   SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

plained  to  him  why  her  father  was  not  his  supporter, 
and  he  explained  to  her  the  feelings  which  had  sealed 
his  lips  when  he  had  undertaken  to  approach  her  father 
and  ask  for  his  help  in  the  campaign.  He  assured  her 
that  the  support  of  his  opponent  by  her  father  could  in 
no  manner  lessen  his  regard  for  the  family  or  affect  his 
undying  love  for  her.  Would  it  be  prudent  to  tell 
her  parents,  just  now,  of  their  engagement?  This 
question  gave  them  some  concern.  It  was  decided 
that  Mr.  Manning  should  speak  to  Mr.  Anderson  on 
the  subject  at  an  early  day,  but  that  for  the  present, 
and  until  a  suitable  opportunity  presented  itself,  it 
would  be  better  for  the  two  lovers  to  keep  their  own 
secret. 

He  was  a  young  man,  without  means,  William 
Manning  admitted  ;  but  he  had  health,  and  strength, 
and  a  loving  heart.  He  would  be  encouraged  now  to 
work  harder  than  he  had  ever  done  before ;  and  even 
if  he  did  not  succeed  in  getting  the  State  attorney's 
office,  he  thought  he  would  be  abundantly  able  to 
support  a  wife  by  the  time  her  parents  would  be  will 
ing  for  her  to  marry.  With  her  help,  he  could  make 
his  way  in  the  world.  But  what  did  she,  a  girl  in  her 
teens,  care  for  riches  in  the  man  she  loved  ?  Her  heart 
had  received  now  its  first  impression.  She  had  never 
loved,  or  imagined  she  loved,  before.  William  Man 
ning  was  to  her  the  ideal  of  all  that  was  noble  and 
manly.  She  did  indeed  love  him.  And  that  was 
enough.  Let  the  future  take  care  of  itself. 

They  paused  in  front  of  the  house  of  Benjamin 
Ingleside,  Esq.,  one  of  the  justices  of  the  peace  of 
Wellington.  He  and  his  daughter  Jennie  were  sitting 
on  the  porch,  enjoying  the  fresh,  cool  air  of  the  even 
ing. 

"Why,  Manning,"  cried  the  Squire,  "Get  out, 
get  out,  and  come  in.  And  v/hat  dove  is  that  with 
you  ?  Why,  bless  my  eyes,  Katie  Anderson,  a  dove 
sure  enough !  Come  in,  both  of  you."  The  Squire 
and  Jennie  both  hurried  to  the  gate. 


AT    MOSSY    BANK.  12$ 

"Not  this  evening,  thank  you,"  said  Manning. 
Jennie  had  recovered  her  equanimity  of  mind,  and  was 
now  unusually  good-natured  and  happy,  as  if  to  make 
amends  for  her  depression  of  spirits  during  the  day. 
Mrs.  Ingleside's  prognostication  had  shared  the  fate  of 
the  weather-prophet's.  The  Squire  was  not  angry  at 
all.  He  was  so  excessively  fond  of  his  daughter,  that 
she  might  have  broken  half  a  dozen  vases  without 
provoking  many  sharp  words  from  him.  True,  the  ac 
cident  set  him  to  thinking.  He  sat  upon  the  porch 
most  of  the  afternoon,  with  his  pouch  of  fine-cut  to 
bacco  in  his  hand,  and  a  wad  as  large  as  half  an  egg  in 
each  cheek,  and  reviewed  the  events  of  that  day  of 
days  when  he  had  met  the  late  Senator  Douglas  in 
Chicago,  and  had  afterwards  bought  the  vase  as  a 
souvenir  of  the  occasion.  About  the  middle  of  the 
afternoon,  Jennie  stole  up  behind  her  father's  chair,  so 
noiselessly  as  to  give  no  warning  of  her  approach,  and 
threw  her  arms  around  his  neck,  with  a  little  sob,  and 
told  him,  with  broken  words,  how  sorry  she  was  that 
she  had  broken  his  precious  vase.  Thereupon  the 
Squire  disengaged  his  daughter's  arms  from  his  neck, 
and  pushed  her  away  from  him,  while  he  walked  to  the 
edge  of  the  porch,  ejected  the  two  wads  of  tobacco  into 
his  hand  and  threw  them  into  the  yard,  at  a  great  sac 
rifice,  for  there  was  yet  much  precious  juice  in  them, 
and  then  proceeded  to  wipe  his  mouth  and  eyes,  and 
blow  his  nose.  He  then  returned  to  his  chair,  and 
drew  his  daughter  to  his  side  and  kissed  her  affection 
ately,  and  said : 

' '  All  earthly  things  are  perishable.  Even  the 
great  Senator — I  refer,  as  a  matter  of  course,  to  his 
mortal  part — is  now  but  a  handful  of  dust.  And  shall 
a  brittle,  unsubstantial,  unthinking,  unfeeling  vase,  be 
expected  to  enjoy  eternal  life  on  this  transitory  ball  ? 
I  opine  not.  Let  my  weeping  child  dry  her  tear- 
dimmed  eyes,  and  learn  to  sob  no  more." 

From  that  moment  the  sky  brightened,  and  Jennie's 
heart  was  now  overflowing  with  joy. 


126  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"  Dearest  Katie, "  she  said,  with  a  smile,  "I  sup 
pose  you  are  glad  I  broke  the  vase.  It  's  an  ill  wind 
that  blows  nobody  good.  Come  over  to-morrow  and 
tell  me  all  about  your  trip  and  buggy  ride." 

Katie  promised  she  would,  with  a  mental  reserva 
tion,  however,  to  the  effect  that  the  most  precious 
part  of  the  whole  history  would  .not  find  its  way  into 
Jennie's  ears. 

"Manning,"  said  the  Squire,  "I  desire  to  see  you 
at  .my  office  to-night — say  at  about  half  past  seven. 
Can  you  come?" 

Mr.  Manning  promised  to  be  at  the  Squire's  office 
at  the  designated  hour,  and  drove  on  to  Mr.  Ander 
son's  residence.  As  he  helped  Katie  out  of  the 
buggy,  he  said  a  few  loving  words  of  farewell,  and  re 
newed  his  vows  of  fidelity  to  her.  He  spoke  so  softly 
that  it  was  evident  he  did  not  wish  his  words  to  be  over 
heard  or  repeated  by  a  third  party.  Out  of  deference 
to  his  wishes,  what  was  said  will  not  be  written  down. 

"  Why,  Katie,  what  has  made  you  so  late?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Anderson,  as  the  daughter  entered  the  sitting- 
room.  Katie  explained  that  she  had  tarried  in  the 
woods  longer  than  she  had  intended,  and  had  then  met 
Mr.  Manning,  who  had  been  out  electioneering,  and 
who  had  volunteered  to  give  her  a  short  buggy  ride. 
Her  mother  said  no  more  to  her  on  the  subject,  and 
Katie  went  about  the  house,  singing  merrily,  for  the 
world  seemed  to  her  at  that  moment  a  blooming  Para 
disc.  She  had  not  noticed  the  expression  of  anxiety 
on  her  mother's  face.  She  was  too  busy  with  her  own 
thoughts  to  care  to  interpret  the  thoughts  of  others. 

Presently  her  father  came  in  from  the  barn,  where 
he  had  been  feeding  the  horses.  He  was  so  evidently 
in  an  ill-humor  that  even  Katie  could  not  help  taking 
notice  of  the  fact.  He  spoke  to  Mrs.  Anderson  rather 
.sharply,  asking  her  what  had  become  of  James,  and  why 
he  had  not  done  the  milking;  and  her  mild  answer,  that 
she  did  not  know,  seemed  to  be  anything  else  than  an 
anodyne  for  his  ruffled  disposition,  He  turned  to 


AT    MOSSY    BANK.  I2/ 

Katie,  and  scolded  her  severely  for  not  having  returned 
home  earlier. 

"  I  '11  stop  your  running  about  this  town,  miss.  I 
moved  here  that  you  might  learn  something — I  'm  pay 
ing  out  money  for  your  education — and  I  want  you  to 
get  to  work.  Do  you  hear  me?  Your  mother  tells 
me  you  have  been  out  to  the  woods  again.  I  '11  have 
no  more  of  it !  The  next  time  you  take  a  trip  like  this, 
I  '11  punish  you  !  Now  mind  what  I  say  !  " 

Poor  Katie !.  She  had  been  her  father's  pet.  He 
had  never  punished  her.  She  did  not  realize  what  it 
was  to  be  scolded.  And  now  at  this  happy  moment 
of  her  life,  instead  of  speaking  unkindly,  he  should 
have  shown  a  fatherly  sympathy  with  her  in  the  sweet 
experience  of  her  awakened  love.  But  he  knew  noth 
ing  of  what  had  transpired  at  Mossy  Bank  ;  and  might 
have  said  more  unpleasant  things  still,  if  he  had  known. 
Katie's  heart  was  full ;  and  as  soon  as  she  could  do  so 
without  exciting  further  remark,  she  quietly  withdrew 
to  the  privacy  of  her  own  room.  She  opened  her 
window,  and  sat  down  where  she  could  witness  the 
fading  blushes  of  the  dying  day.  There  was  an  un 
satisfied  longing  in  her  heart,  a  feeling  of  loneliness 
and  of  the  uncertainty  of  earthly  joy,  which  made  her 
yearn  for  a  moment  for  that  eternal  home  where 
change  comes  not  and  the  soul  is  fully  satisfied.  The 
twilight  faded  away,  and  still  she  sat  there  in  the  dark 
ness,  crying  softly  to  herself,  and  feeling  as  if  all  her 
friends  had  deserted  her.  Oh,  the  joy  of  the  moments 
she  had  passed  with  her  lover  at  Mossy  Bank,  and  the 
thrill  with  which  she  had  heard  his  tender  words  of 
love  !  With  that  wealth  of  affection  of  which  a  young 
girl's  pure  heart  is  capable,  she  loved,  yes,  she  adored 
him  !  Before  the  dawning  of  this  day,  she  had  admired 
him — had  felt  a  delight  in  his  company  which  no  other 
had  ever  inspired ;  but  she  had  not  sought  to  analyze 
her  feelings  or  to  characterize  her  emotions.  But  when 
he  had  spoken  to  her  to-day,  her  heart  had  responded 
as  unto  its  own,  and  she  had  known  she  was  his  for- 


128  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

ever.  And  now,  after  this  bliss,  this  exaltation  of 
feeling,  this  great  happiness,  she  had  been  plunged 
into  the  depths  of  misery.  Why  had  her  father,  at 
this  time  of  all  times,  spoken  so  unkindly  to  her  ?  She 
was  late,  it  is  true ;  but  she  had  done  no  wrong,  and  he 
had  not  even  waited  to  hear  her  explanation.  He  was 
not  accustomed  to  act  so  hastily  or  unjustly.  Had  he 
heard  of  her  engagement,  and  was  he  angry  for  that 
reason  ?  No,  that  could  not  be ;  for  he  entertained  a 
favorable  opinion  of  her  lover;  and  besides,  if  that  had 
been  the  cause  of  his  sharp  words,  he  would  certainly 
have  said  so. 

So  deeply  engrossed  was  she  in  her  thoughts  that 
she  did  not  hear  the  door  opened.  It  was  opened, 
however,  by  a  soft  touch ;  and  a  gentle  footstep  indi 
cated  the  approach  of  a  gentle  being.  Katie  felt  a  lov 
ing  arm  encircle  her  waist.  A  tender  hand  was  upon 
her  cheek,  and  a  soft  voice  was  breathing  into  her  ear. 
It  was  her  mother' s  hand — her  mother's  voice. 

"  Do  not  weep,  darling,"  she  said.  "Your  father 
is  not  really  angry  at  you.  Katie !  Katie !  he  is  not 
himself  to-night !  O  my  child !  how  can  I  tell  you 
the  truth  ?  But  I  can  't  keep  it  from  you — you 
will  find  it  out — and  you  can  bear  it  better  from  your 
mother  than  from  a  stranger." 

Here  the  mother's  fortitude  gave  way,  and  the 
comforted  had  to  become  the  comforter.  In  an  instant, 
Katie  forgot  all  about  her  own  trouble. 

"What  is  it,  mother?  What  is  the  matter? 
Mother,  tell  me?"  she  asked,  a  fearful  sensation  of  in 
definable  dread  almost  choking  her  utterance. 

"O  Katie!  would  to  God  we  had  never  left  the 
farm !  I  had  a  dread  of  this  change.  Yes,  I  had  a 
presentiment  of  some  great  evil,  and  I  begged  your 
father  not  to  move  to  this  place.  But  he  would  come  ! 
Arid  now  my  worst  fears  are  realized.  O  my  God ! 
what  shall  I  do?" 

"Mother!  mother!  speak  to  me!  tell  me  your 
trouble  !  let  me  help  you  to  bear  it !  " 


AT    MOSSY    BANK.  1 29 

"Yes,  darling,"  said  the  mother,  growing  calmer, 
"  let  me  tell  you  all,  for  you  will  have  to  help  me  bear 
the  burden.  Your  father  has  been  drinking — he  is 
under  the  influence  of  liquor  to-night,  and  that  is  the 
reason  why  he  is  so  unkind  and  disagreeable  !  " 

"O  mother!  "  cried  Katie  with  a  shudder,  clinging 
to  her  mother's  hand. 

"  He  has  been  drinking  some,"  Mrs.  Anderson  con 
tinued,  "  ever  since  he  came  to  town,  but  he  has  never 
before  shown  his  condition  as  he  has  to-night.  His 
appetite  for  liquor  has  been  growing  slowly,  but  surely. 
O  Katie,  I  fear  our  happiness  is  destroyed  forever!" 

"Mother,  why  didn't  you  tell  me  sooner?  I 
might  have  done  something  so  save  father." 

"  I  hoped  for  the  best.  I  prayed  for  him  every 
night,  and  I  thought  the  good  Heavenly  Father  would 
surely  turn  this  great  evil  away  from  our  home.  I 
thought  Henry  might  master  his  appetite,  and  then  you 
need  never  know  how  close  he  had  come  to  the  bot 
tomless  pit.  I  talked  to  him  and  pleaded  with  him 
again  and  again,  and  again  and  again  he  wept  and 
promised  me,  between  his  sobs,  never  to  touch  another 
drop.  Then  all  would  go  well  for  several  days,  till  he 
would  fall  into  temptation  and  give  way  again.  He  has 
gone  back  to  town,  and  I  fear  he  may  come  home 
worse  than  ever.  ' 

' '  Mother,  it  may  not  be  as  bad  as  you  think.  Let 
us  hope  for  the  best,  and  save  him  if  we  can." 

"O  Katie!"  cried  Mrs.  Anderson,  sobbing  again, 
"  I  do  n't  see  what  we  can  do,  or  where  we  can  begin. 
He  has  made  so  many  promises  and  afterwards  broken 
them,  that  his  promises  can  not  be  relied  upon.  At 
first  I  think  he  was  sincere,  but  I  now  believe  he  makes 
his  pledges  with  the  expectation  that  he  will  not  keep 
them.  I  never  dreamed  of  such  a  fate  as  this  ! " 

For  a  time  neither  uttered  a  word.  A  gentle  breeze 
came  in  through  the  open  window,  and  lightly  touched 
their  faces.  The  little  clock  in  Katie's  room  ticked 
away  vigorously  and  unconcernedly.  Otherwise,  the 


I3O  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

silence  was  like  that  in  the  house  of  the  dead.  Then 
there  came  a  sob  and  a  moan  from  a  loving  wife — then 
broken  words :  "  O  Henry !  Henry !  I  would  rather 
lay  you  in  the  grave  than  have  you  become  a 
drunkard! " 

"  Where  is  James,  mother?  "  asked  Katie. 

"I  told  him  to  follow  your  father,  and  take  care  of 
him  if  that  should  become  necessary." 

And  even  at  this  very  instant,  while  the  mother 
and  daughter  were  weeping  in  each  other's  arms,  the 
son  was  following  the  father  from  place  to  place  in  the 
city,  that  he  might  snatch  him  away  from  the  portals  o'f 
hell;  and  by  the  son's  side  walked  a  noble-hearted 
woman,  bent  on  the  same  mission,  ready  to  become 
as  weak  to  the  weak  that  she  might  gain  the  weak,  and 
even  to  be  made  all  things  to  all  men,  that  she  might 
by  all  means  save  some. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

SQUIRE  INGLESIDE    MILITANT. 

At  half  past  seven  o'clock  the  same  evening,  Will 
iam  Manning,  punctual  to  the  minute,  entered  Squire 
Ingleside's  office.  The  Squire  was  already  there,  rest 
ing  comfortably  in  his  large  arm-chair,  having  been 
engaged  in  a  desultory  conversation  with  Colonel  Mans 
field,  Marion  Spence  and  Jacob  Haynes,  while  awaiting 
the  arrival  of  the  young  attorney. 

"  I  believe  it  would  be  advisable  to  secure  the  door,'J 
said  the  Squire,  as  he  proceeded  to  turn  the  key.  "  We 
desire  secrecy  in  our  deliberations.  While  we  are  not 
engaged  in  any  treasonable  or  unlawful  business,  we 
can  not,  nevertheless,  afford  to  be  interrupted  by  the 
intrusion  of  others. "  The  Squire  seated  himself  in  his 
easy  chair  with  great  dignity,  and  looked  around  upon 
the  group  before  him  in  a  self-satisfied  and  impressive 
manner. 

Squire  Ingleside  was  a  short  man,  considerably  be 
low  the  medium  height.  But  what  he  lacked  in  height 
he  made  up  in  circumference.  Nature  had  not  designed 
him  for  a  contortionist,  and  yet  the  Squire,  considering 
his  avoirdupois,  was  exceedingly  agile  in  his  movements. 
He  prided  himself  upon  his  extraordinary  physique. 
He  conceded  that  he  was  not  as  tall  as  some  men,  but 
insisted  that  he  was  by  no  means  a  dwarf.  He  asserted 
that  his  height  was  fully  equal  to  that  of  the  great  Sen 
ator  Stephen  A.  Douglas,  and  defied  any  man  to  stake 
his  reputation  on  the  proposition  that  the  immortal 
Senator  was  not  of  commanding  physique.  Indeed,  he 
found  a  great  deal  of  satisfaction  in  the  belief,  which 
was  adroitly  encouraged  by  some  of  his  friends,  that 
there  was  a  remarkable  general  resemblance  between 
himself  and  that  illustrious  statesman.  A  great  admirer 
as  he  was,  both  of  Douglas  and  Lincoln,  he  would  have 


132  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

considered  it  a  compliment  from  nature  to  have  been 
stamped  with  the  form  and  countenance  of  either  of 
them.  It  was  evident,  however,  that  if  nature  had  un 
dertaken  so  pleasing  a  task,  the  Little  Giant  had  been 
selected  as  the  model.  In  stature,  figure,  poise  of  the 
head,  and  tones  of  the  voice,  there  was  inJ?ed  a  like 
ness  between  the  Squire  and  his  celebrated  prototype. 
For  the  purpose  of  continually  reminding  his  companions 
of  this  striking  and  honorable  distinction  which  nature 
had  conferred  upon  him,  the  Squire  made  frequent  refer 
ences  to  the  late  Senator  as  a  friend  and  companion,  and 
quoted  from  him  without  stint  in  support  of  his  own 
theories  and  opinions.  There  were  those  who  were  in 
clined  to  doubt  the  genuineness  of  some  of  the  Squire's 
quotations  from  and  reminiscences  of  the  late  Senator ; 
but  the  latter  was  dead,  and  the  Squire  was  in  no  more 
danger  of  successful  contradiction  than  if  he  had  fortified 
his  assertions  by  quotations  from  the  celebrated  Mrs. 
Harris. 

Now,  while  the  Squire  was  vulnerable  at  this  point, 
as  a  certain  famous  gentleman  of  antiquity  was  said  to 
be  in  his  heel,  he  was  withal  an  honest,  industrious  and 
respectable  man,  neighbor  and  citizen. 

Colonel  Mansfield  was  a  merchant  of  the  old  school, 
who  had  little  inclination  to  adopt  modern  business 
methods,  but  clung  the  rather  with  great  tenacity  to 
the  theories  and  ideas  prevalent  among  traders  when 
he  was  a  boy.  As  a  consequence  his  business  had  de 
clined,  and  the  Colonel  was  blessed  with  an  abundance 
of  time  for  the  mastication  of  his  daily  paper.  He  was 
a  man  of  extensive  reading  and  information.  He  was 
true  as  steel  in  his  friendship.  His  influence  was  found 
on  the  right  side  of  all  great  moral  questions.  He 
was  in  comfortable  circumstances,  and  manifested  a 
disposition  to  spend  the  remnant  of  his  days  in  the  quiet 
and  seclusion  of  his  own  vine  and  fig-tree. 

Marion  Spence  was  one  of  the  saloon-keepers  of 
Wellington.  Do  not  start  back  in  alarm,  sons  and 
daughters  of  temperance  !  A  saloon-keeper  is  a  man, 


SQUIRE   INGLESIDE   MILITANT.  133 

and  has  a  soul,  and  may  be  saved  by  the  proper  exor 
cism  of  the  evil  spirits  with  which  he  associates.  Take 
this  man  by  the  hand,  and  he  will  give  you  a  cordial, 
manly  grip.  You  will  learn  to  respect  him  by  and  by. 
He  ought  to  be  earning  his  living  in  some  other  way. 
His  present  course  is  reprehensible.  But  do  not  throw 
him  overboard.  Perhaps,  with  a  little  encouragement 
and  teaching  and  exhortation,  he  may  yet  be  saved 
from  his  sinful  business,  and  set  upon  the  highway  to 
true  honor  and  glory  here  and  hereafter. 

Marion  Spence  was  only  about  thirty  years  of  age. 
Gifted   with  more  than  ordinary  ability,  and  possessed 
of  those  noble  qualities  which  would  have  fitted  him  for 
some  honorable  station  in  life,  he  had  nevertheless  in 
herited  a  calling  which  fattens  itself  upon  the  damna 
tion  of  men  and  the  ruin  of  their  families.      His  father 
had  been  a  saloon-keeper,  and  Marion's  earliest  training 
had  been  in  the  saloon  and  under  its  influence.     Cir 
cumstances  had  contributed  to  push  him  onward  in  ths 
direction  in  which  his  early  training  had   impelled  him. 
But  of  late  he  had  been  growing  weary  of  a  business 
which  seemed  out  of  harmony  with  his  natural  tastes. 
His  saloon,   as  conducted   at  this    time,    would   have 
ranked  as  one  of  the  miracles  of  the  age.      He  endeav 
ored  to  comply  strictly  with  the  laws  of  the  State  and 
the  ordinances  of  the  city.      He  refused  to  sell  to  minors 
or  to  habitual  drunkards,  and  v/as  bold  in  his  assertion 
that  the  law  prohibiting  such  sales  was  just  and  should 
be    rigorously   enforced.     So   unusual   an    avowal   and 
course  of  conduct  on  the  part  of  one  engaged  in  his 
business  soon  brought  him  under  the  condemnation  of 
other   saloon-keepers.      The  latter   regarded  him   as  a 
sort  of  heretic,    worthy  of  roasting  over  a  slow  fire  of 
green  wood,  without  even  a  bag  of  powder  to  hasten 
the  consummation.      He  was  not  admitted  to  member 
ship  in  their  associations.     Donnerblitzen  of  Holyterror 
even  went  so  far  as  to  call  him  a  temperance  man.     For 
as   a  general   rule   it  was  the  policy  of  the  keepers  of 
the  dram-shops  to  curse  the  law,  and  the  makers  of  the 


134  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

law,  and  the  courts  and  juries  whose  province  it  was  to 
enforce  the  law,  and  to  resort  to  every  possible  means, 
even  to  perjury  and  the  suppression  of  evidence,  in 
order  to  escape  merited  punishment  for  an  open  and 
habitual  defiance  and  violation  of  the  law.  It  was  not  so 
with  Marion  Spence.  He  endeavored  to  obey  the  law. 
He  was  therefore  looked  upon  with  disfavor  by  his 
brethren  of  the  "  bar." 

Jacob  Haynes,  the  other  member  of  the  group, 
was  now  about  forty  years  of  age,  ajid  considered  one 
of  the  most  successful  politicians  in  the  county.  Suc 
cessful  in  his  way — which  did  not  lie  through  saloon 
doors,  or  in  dark  and  questionable  bypaths  full  of 
snares  and  pitfalls,  but  in  the  open  highway,  under  the 
midday  sun,  where  every  man  could  see  what  he  was 
doing  and  lay  a  finger  upon  his  every  method  and  mo 
tive.  He,  too,  had  his  eccentricities  ;  but  these  were 
manifested  in  deliberation  and  discussion,  and  not  in 
the  field.  In  deliberation,  he  was  never  known  to  agree 
with  anybody  at  the  beginning.  No  matter  what  prop- 
.osition  was  affirmed,  he  was  expected  to  espouse  the 
negative.  After  this  method  of  debate  had  continued 
for  a  reasonable  length  of  time,  Haynes  ended  the  con 
troversy  by  agreeing  with  everybody  about  everything. 
Notwithstanding  these  peculiarities  of  disposition,  when 
he  girded  up  his  loins  and  set  forth  on  an  electioneering 
tour,  he  was  able  to  suppress  his  penchant  for  an  argu 
ment,  and,  with  courteous  and  agreeable  manner,  to 
contribute  not  a  little  to  the  success  of  his  cause. 

"I  thought  I  would  call  together  a  few  of  Mr. 
Manning's  friends,"  said  the  Squire,  opening  the  con 
ference,  ' '  and  endeavor,  with  the  enlightenment 
of  their  counsel,  to  devise  ways  and  means  to  assist 
him  in  his  political  engagement  with  Sawtheaire. 
Manning,  here,  is  a  worthy  young  man,  and  deserves 
success,  but  he  is  a  poor  politician — I  repeat  it,  sirs,  a 
poor  politician.  He  can  not  carry  this  burden  alone. 
He  needs  the  advice  and  assistance  of  more  experienced 
men."  Here  the  Squire  looked  significantly  at  Colonel 


SQUIRE    INGLESIDE   MILITANT.  135 

Mansfield,  then  at  Jacob  Haynes,  and  finally  at  Marion 
Spence.  "I  have  been  in  politics  a  great  many 
years,"  he  went  on,  "and  know  a  few  things  myself. 
Fortunately  I  have  come  in  contact  with  some  of  the 
leading  politicians  of  the  land,  and  have  sat  at  their 
feet,  so  to  speak,  like  Saul  at  the  feet  of  Ananias,  and 
so  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that,  in  the  course  of 
time,  I  have  come  to  know  a  few  things  myself."  The 
Squire  bestowed  a  knowing  glance  on  Jacob  Haynes, 
who  was  nervously  stroking  his  beard,  questioning 
the  Squire's  allusion  to  Saul.  ''Well,  I  do  remem 
ber,"  resumed  the  Squire,  "when  I  was  a  candidate 
for  the  Legislature,  before  the  late  internecine  strife! 
I  met  Senator  Douglas  at  Chicago.  He  seized  me  by 
the  hand  and  said  :  '  My  young  friend  Ingleside !  I 
am  exquisitely  happy  to  see  you  !  How  do  you  come 
on  ?  Your  father  is  well,  I  hope,  and  your  wife  is  as 
charming  as  ever  ? '  There,  Mr.  Manning,  was  a  great 
man.  His  words  had  the  ring  of  true  statesmanship. 
Let  these  utterances  of  his  which  I  have  just  repeated 
sink  deep  into  your  soul.  He  had  never  been  at  my 
house  but  once,  and  yet  he  remembered  all  the  particu 
lars  of  our  family  history.  I  myself,  sirs,  have  culti 
vated  the  same  qualities.  Here  our  friend  Manning  is 
deficient,  and  we  must  supply  his  deficiencies.  If  we 
are  his  friends,  as  we  profess  to  be,  we  must  get  to 
work.  We  can  secure  his  nomination  if  we  do  our 
duty.  I  can  spend  a  few  days  out  of  the  city  myself. 
Every  one  of  you  should  do  the  same.  Sawtheaire's 
falsifications  of  the  truth  must  be  contradicted.  If 
Mr.  Manning  is  too  modest  to  follow  this  crawling 
serpent  around  through  the  woods,  we  must  go.  A 
nice  man  Sawtheaire  would  be  for  the  responsible  office 
of  State's  attorney!  " 

"  That 's  all  very  well,  Squire,"  said  Haynes,  strok 
ing  his  beard  and  looking  up  at  the  ceiling,  "that 
sounds  all  right.  You  're  a  grand  fellow  on  dress 
parade.  What  you  say  will  do  well  enough  for  talk. 
But  let  us  come  down  to  something  practical.  Where 


136  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

are  you  going  to  get  men  enough  to  track  Sawtheaire 
all  over  this  county  ?  " 

"No  trouble  about  that,  Haynes, "  replied  the 
Squire.  "There  are  enough  of  us  here  now  to  beat 
the  young  hypocrite,  if  we  only  get  to  work,  and  work 
with  a  will.  The  indolence  and  indifference  of  his 
friends  are  Manning's  only  real  dangers." 

"I  don't  know  so  well  about  tfiat, "  hastily  inter 
posed  Haynes.  "Sawtheaire  is  a  slick  fellow,  and  he 
certainly  has  the  start  of  us.  While  we  have  been 
asleep,  he  and  his  friends  have  been  wide  awake.  Do 
you  reckon  the  saloon-keepers  have  been  lying  around 
all  this  time,  doing  nothing?  Not  by  a  jug  full  !  " 

"  Not  by  a  great  many  jugs  full !  "  said  the  Colo 
nel,  with  a  quiet  laugh,  which  gently  agitated  his  whole 
body. 

"I  don't  know  so  well  about  that,"  exclaimed 
Haynes,  abandoning  the  thread  of  his  discourse  to  join 
issue  with  the  Colonel's  remark.  "You  fellows  talk 
a  great  deal  about  jugs  and  kegs,  but  I  am  not  sure  but 
you  yourselves  do  as  much  jugging  and  kegging  as  the 
other  fellows.  It 's  easy  to  talk,  gentlemen,  but  what 
are  the  facts?  You  've  waited  too  long — that 's  what's 
the  matter — you  've  waited  too  long — and  Manning 
does  n't  stand  the  ghost  of  a  chance."  And  with  these 
words  Jacob  Haynes  arose,  pulled  his  hat  down  over 
his  ears,  and  strode  savagely  to  the  door  ;  and  then, 
having  paused  there  for  a  moment  and  looked  at  the 
ceiling,  indulging  all  the  while  in  a  rotary  movement 
of  his  head  upon  its  pivot,  the  neck,  thrust  his  hands 
into  his  pockets,  and  returned  to  his  chair  and  sat  down 
again. 

"I  am  afraid  Mr.  Haynes  is  right,"  interposed  the 
Colonel,  .winking  at  the  Squire.  "  'The  early  bird 
catches  the  worm,'  is  an  old  and  true  saying.  We  are 
late  in  getting  to  work.  Would  it  not  be  better  to 
give  up  the  contest  than  to  rush  on  to  almost  certain 
defeat?" 

The  savage    expression  began    to  fade  away  from 


SQUIRE    INGLESIDE    MILITANT.  I3/ 

Haynes'  countenance,  and  he  stroked  his  beard  now  in 
a  go'od-humored  manner.  The  Squire  winked  at  the 
Colonel  and  said : 

"The  Colonel  may  be  right.  It  would  be  many 
points  in  Manning's  favor,  four  years  from  now,  if  he 
should  withdraw  from  the  canvass  for  the  promotion  of 
harmony  in  the  party,  and  leave  Sawtheaire  a  clear 
field.  Who  knows  but  this  might  be  the  wisest 
course  ?  " 

"  I  have  reason  to  know  that  Sawtheaire's  friends 
have  been  working  with  a  will  for  several  weeks,"  re 
marked  Marion  Spence.  "It  will  take  extra  exertion 
to  counteract  what  they  have  done." 

There  was  a  pause  in  the  conversation.  A  con 
temptuous  smile  now  spread  over  the  face  of  Jacob 
Haynes,  and  he  said:  "Huh!"  He  removed  his 
hat.  Then,  with  a  sweeping  movement  of  his  right 
arm,  he  said  : 

"I '11  tell  you  what's  the  matter  with  you,  gentle 
men.  You  're  too  easily  discouraged.  All  you  've  got 
to  do  is  to  wake  up.  We  can  hold  Sawtheaire  level, 
and  sleep  half  the  time." 

"Now  that  Haynes  has  come  round,"  began  the 
Squire,  when  Haynes  interrupted  him  by  saying : 
"You  are  the  man  who  has  come  round.  I  stand  ex 
actly  where  I  stood  at  the  beginning." 

"  All  right,"  said  the  Squire.  "  Now  let  us  get  to 
business.  Talk  is  a  good  thing  sometimes,  but  talk 
will  never  make  Manning  State's  attorney.  I  repeat, 
sirs,  the  observation  lately  made — a  nice  man  would 
Lyman  Sawtheaire  be  for  the  responsible  office  of 
State's  attorney  !  Do  you  suppose  a  saloon-keeper 
would  ever  be  prosecuted  under  his  administration  ? 
Not  if  he  could  prevent  it.  We  can  't  afford  to  have 
such  cattle  in  office.  Besides,  he  lacks  judgment  and 
discernment.  Why,  the  fellow  tried  a  case  before  me 
a  month  ago — you  remember  it,  Colonel — the  case  of 
Fleece  against  Skin — in  which  I  had  to  decide  against 
him — could rit  help  it — and  he  became  infuriated,  and 


138  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

went  about  the  streets  for  a  week  afterwards,  calling 
me  an  ignorant  jackanapes!  The  most  dastardly  out 
rage  I  ever  heard  of!  I  tell  you,  he  lacks  judgment — 
lacks  discernment !  I  used  to  give  Sawtheaire  credit 
for  having  some  brain,  at  least.  But  I  'm  now  con 
vinced  that  he 's  a  contemptible  ignoramus.  Well  do  I 
remember  hearing  the  late  Senator  Douglas  say  that  a 
man  who  would  abuse  a  judge  for  deciding  against 
him  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself.  I  tell  you,  sirs, 
we  must  beat  that  fellow  in  some  way.  See  here, 
Spence,  what  can  you  do?" 

Marion  Spence  said  that  while  he  was  a  saloon 
keeper,  he  had  endeavored  to  be  a  law-abiding  one,  if 
such  a  thing  were  possible ;  that  he  respected  an  officer 
who  would  not  hesitate  to  do  his  duty,  and  was  in  favor 
of  William  Manning,  because  he  believed  him  to  be  a 
man  of  that  class.  He  said,  furthermore,  that  he  did 
not  like  to  be  absent  from  his  saloon,  except  it  were  im- 
peratiyely  required  ;  that  his  bar-tender  was  an  obedient 
boy,  but  could  not  be  relied  on  to  exercise  that  care 
which  was  necessary  to  discriminate  as  against  minors 
and  habitual  drunkards.  However,  he  was  ready  to 
do  his  duty.  He  thought  he  could  do  something 
among  his  friends.  There  were  many  who  favored  sa 
loons,  but  believed  they  should  conform  to  the  law. 
Among  these  he  could  exert  a  helpful  influence ;  and 
was  willing  to  spend  several  days  in  visiting  those  parts 
of  the  county  where  his  labors  might  be  most  availing. 

William  Manning  here  interrupted  the  conversation 
to  thank  his  friends  for  their  kind  words  and  deep  in 
terest  in  his  behalf,  but  to  suggest  that  he  desired  to 
have  his  campaign  conducted  on  those  principles  of 
honesty  and  fairness  which  should  govern  in  politics,  as 
well  as  in  every  other  field.  For  that  reason  he  re 
quested  his  friends  not  to  use,  in  his  behalf,  any  im 
proper  means  or  influence.  All  answered  that  they 
would  respect  his  wishes,  except  the  Squire,  who  made 
no  response.  Perhaps  he  was  too  busily  engaged  in 
taking  a  fresh  chew  of  tobacco.  Perhaps  it  was  the 


SQUIRE    INGLESIDE    MILITANT.  139 

effort  to  get  the  dainty  morsel  into  his  mouth  which 
caused  a  slight  contraction  of  the  left  eye,  commonly 
called  a  wink. 

"  What  will  you  "do,   Haynes?"  asked  the  Squire. 

"I '11  do  all  I  can,"  he  answered.  "What  more 
do  you  want  a  fellow  to  say  ?  I  propose  to  take  off  my 
coat  and  roll  up  my  sleeves,  and  go  in  to  win.  I 
do  n't  want  to  hear  anybody  cheep  failure  around  me." 

"Colonel,  we  haven't  heard  from  you,"  said  the 
Squire  anxiously,  yet  anticipating  the  answer. 

"Oh,  I'm  in  favor  of  our  young  friend  here — 
heartily  in  favor  of  him.  I  only  regret  that  I  am  tied 
down  to  the  store  so  that  I  can  not  get  away  from  the 
city.  I  shall  see  a  farmer  now  and  then,  however,  and 
you  can  rely  on  me  to  speak  a  good  word  for  Mr.  Man 
ning.  I  would  not  be  able  to  leave  the  store  if  I  was 
a  candidate  myself,  and,  such  being  the  case,  could 
hardly  be  expected  to  do  so  for  others.  I  wish  our 
young  friend  here  well,  and  hope  he  may  succeed 
in  this  campaign. '' 

"But  wishes  won't  secure  him  the  nomination, 
Colonel,"  persisted  the  Squire.  "Well,  boys,  up  and 
at  them!  "  he  exclaimed.  "We  can  win  a  signal  vic 
tory  in  this  township  with  Spence's  coadjutorship. 
With  this  township,  we  can  surely  carry  the  county. 
Of  course,  we  must  expect  to  encounter  the  combined 
power  of  all  the  saloons,  with  the  single  exception  of 
Spence's.  Now  I  've  nothing  to  say  against  a  decent 
saloon.  I  have  taken  a  little  smile  myself,  on  a  rainy 
day,  you  know.  But  I  tell  you,  sirs,  I  'm  down  on  the 
saloon  power.  The  time  has  come  when  a  respectable 
man  can  hardly  be  elected  to  office.  I  say  Jiardly,  for 
it  must  be  admitted  that  there  are  some  respectable 
men  in  office  in  this  county.  But  the  saloons  have  the 
balance  of  power,  and  use  it  for  their  own  sympathizers 
every  time.  It  is  a  menace  to  our  institutions,  sirs. 
And  this  great  power  will  make  itself  felt  in  this  contest, 
let  me  tell  you.  Some  men,  who  are  ordinarily  on  the 
side  of  decency,  have  already  espoused  Sawtheaire's 


I4O  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

cause,  and  I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand  why  they  have 
done  so.  Now,  there 's  Henry  Anderson.  Ordinarily, 
he 's  sensible  enough  ;  but  he 's  making  a  fool  of  himself 
this  time.  I  can  't  imagine  what  has  come  '  o'er  the 
spirit  of  his  dreams.'  Haynes,  you  must  follow  Ander 
son;  and  you  will  have  to  move  like  a  locomotive  if 
you  keep  up  with  him.  I  'm  going  to  follow  Saw- 
theaire.  If  he  outlies  me,  he  '11  have  to  get  up  at  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning — ah  !  Manning,  beg  pardon  !  " 
The  Squire  arose,  put  his  thumbs  into  the  arm-holes  of 
his  vest,  and  began  to  pace  slowly  and  thoughtfully 
up  and  down  the  room.  Presently  he  resumed  his  dis 
course.  "  One  trouble  about  the  whole  thing  is  that 
there  are  other  nominations  to  be  made  besides  that  of 
State's  attorney.  There  's  where  the  rub  comes  in,  as 
the  poet  says.  We  can  't  tell  what  complications  may 
arise  to  defeat  our  deepest  plans.  Ah!  gentlemen," 
he  continued,  leaving  the  practical,  and  beginning  to 
moralize  once  more,  "this  is  indeed  a  strange  world. 
How  many  inexplicable  things  do  we  encounter  in  our 
perambulations  about  the  globe  !  Well  do  I  remember 
an  observation  of  the  late  Senator  Douglas,  in  answer 
to  a  remark  I  made  to  him  on  a  certain  occasion,  about 
the  mystery  of  human  affairs  !  Placing  his  hand  upon 
my  shoulder,  and  looking  far  away  over  the  landscape 
which  •  lay  before  us,  he  said,  in  slow  and  measured 
tones:  'Yes,  friend  Ingleside,  this  is  a  strange  world/ 
I  have  never  forgotten  those  wonderful  words." 

The  Squire  paused,  that  the  force  of  this  remarkable 
statement,  handed  down  from  such  eminent  authority, 
might  be  felt  and  appreciated  by  his  auditors.  After 
a  short  pause,  during  which  it  is  to  be  hoped,  the 
late  Senator's  remarks  had  been  thoroughly  digested, 
William  Manning  again  thanked  his  friends  for  their 
interest  in  his  behalf,  and  assured  them  that  he  would 
profit  by  their  wise  counsel,  and  press  his  claims  on  the 
people  more  earnestly  and  judiciously  than  he  had  ever 
been  capable  of  doing  before.  The  object  of  the  meet 
ing  having  been  accomplished,  the  Squire  unlocked 


SQUIRE    INGLESIDE    MILITANT.  14! 

the  door,  and  each  of  his  friends  left  the  sanctity  of  his 
office  for  other  scenes  and  employments.  Manning  was 
the  last  to  withdraw. 

"Say,  Manning,"  said  the  Squire  as  the  young  man 
paused  upon  the  threshold,  "have  you  any  engage 
ment  for  to-morrow  evening?"  Manning  answered 
that  he  had  not.  "Well,  then,  come  over  and  take 
tea  with  me.  I  want  to  talk  to  you  privately  about 
this  business,  and  we  '11  not  be  liable  to  so  many  inter 
ruptions  there  as  here.  Come,  come,"  he  said,  as 
Manning  endeavored  to  frame  an  excuse,  "  I  won't 
have  any  excuses.  Mrs.  Ingleside  will  expect  you, 
and  arrange  a  place  for  you  at  the  table.''  With  this 
understanding  they  separated. 

The  Squire  sat  down  on  the  end  of  his  table  for  a 
few  minutes,  and  ruminated  as  follows: 

"  Let  me  see — let  me  see — at  the  time  of  the  last 
vernal  equinox,  Jennie  was  seventeen — a  fine  girl  and  a 
cooing  age — like  her  mother  in  form  and  face — like  her 
father  in  the  grasp  and  vigor  of  her  intellect.  I  well 
remember  hearing  the  late  Senator  Douglas  make  the 
remark,  at  a  wedding  in  Springfield,  that  he  believed 
in  early  marriages." 

Thereupon  the  Squire  blew  out  his  light,  locked 
his  office,  and  went  home. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A    LIBATION    TO    BACCHUS. 

Let  us  follow  Marion  Spence  from  the  office  to  his 
saloon.  On  entering  his  place  of  business,  he  found 
two  individuals  standing  in  front  of  the  bar,  clamoring 
for  something  to  drink,  and  addressing  some  very  un 
complimentary  words  to  the  bar-tender,  who  seemed  to 
be  hesitating  about  acceding  to  their  demands.  One 
of  the  two  was  a  lad  of  doubtful  age.  Judging  from 
his  appearance,  he  might  have  been  twenty-two,  or  he 
might  have  been  only  twenty.  At  the  present  mo 
ment  he  was  strenuously  insisting  that  he  was  twenty- 
one;  and  in  support  of  that  statement,  affirmed  that  he 
had  voted  at  the  election  on  the  first  Tuesday  of  April, 
and  pointed  to  his  companion  as  a  witness  to  the  fact. 
Spence  interrogated  the  lad  sharply,  and  soon  satisfied 
himself,  from  the  evasive  answers  returned  to  his  in 
quiries,  that  the  young  gentleman  was  not  really  as  old 
as  he  claimed  to  be. . 

"Under  the  law,"  thought  the  saloon-keeper,  "I 
may  sell  to  this  boy  if  yesterday  was  his  twenty-first 
birthday,  but  dare  not  sell  to  him  if  his  twenty-first 
birthday  is  next  Monday.  It  may  be  hard  to  explain 
why  a  difference  of  a  day  or  two  should  determine  the 
right  to  make  the  sale ;  but  such  is  the  law,  and  the 
law  must  be  obeyed."  Then  he  informed  the  lad  that 
he  could  not  let  him  have  what  he  wanted.  The  boy 
left,  with  a  parting  observation  as  he  passed  out  of  the 
door,  that  he  would  go  to  Holly's  saloon,  where  they 
were  not  so  "blamed  pertickler,"  and  would  "take  a 
feller  at  his  word,"  and  would  thenceforth  use  his  influ 
ence  against  Spence,  and  "spile  part  of  his  trade,  as 
sure  as  the  sun  was  a-shinin'." 

There  was  no   doubt  as  to   the  age    of  the    other 

thirsty  individual   who  was   begging  for  something  to 

142 


A    LIBATION    TO    BACCHUS.  143 

drink.  It  had  been  twenty-five  years,  probably,  since 
he  had  cast  his  first  vote,  and  there  was  certainly  no 
objection  of  minority  to  be  urged  against  selling  to 
him.  But  he  was  leaning  against  the  bar  with  suspi 
cious  indications  of  limberness.  His  attitude,  his  blood 
shot  eyes,  his  stammering  utterance,  all  proclaimed  the 
fact  that  he  had  already  taken  what  the  ' '  moderate 
drinker"  calls  "enough."  Sometimes  it  requires 
great  powers  of  discrimination  to  determine  where  the 
imaginary  line  is  which  separates  between  the  two  ter 
ritories,  which  may  be  called  "enough"  and  "not 
enough."  Some  people  are  so  silly  as  to  believe  that  a 
man  has  had  "enough"  before  he  has  begun.  But 
the  subtlety  of  genius  was  not  required  in  this  par 
ticular  case  to  ascertain  the  status  of  this  trembling 
man,  for  it  would  have  been  evident,  even  to  an  inex 
perienced  observer,  that,  however  loosely  the  line 
might  be  drawn,  this  quaking  sinner  had  certainly  had 
"enough."  So  Marion  Spence  told  him  to  go  home 
and  go  to  bed,  and  "  sleep  off"  the  effect  of  his  exces 
sive  potations,  and  to  call  when  sober,  if  he  wanted 
drink  at  that  bar.  The  man  grumbled  and  mumbled, 
and  staggered  out  of  the  room.  He  had  been  gone 
but  a  few  minutes  when  his  place  at  the  bar  was  occu 
pied  by  a  man  who  was  not  intoxicated,  or  as  yet  in 
the  habit  of  getting  intoxicated,  and  against  whom 
no  one  of  the  statutory  restrictions  was  leveled. 
Henry  Anderson  stood  in  front  of  Marion  Spence,  call 
ing  for  good  old  Bourbon  whisky. 

Spence  placed  in  front  of  Anderson  a  bottle  of  the 
desired  beverage  and  a  temptingly  beautiful  glass — a 
small  and  delicate  glass,  which  might,  with  propri 
ety,  have  been  used  in  the  revelings  of  the  gods,  and 
which,  from  its  aristocratic  appearance,  was  calculated 
to  give  an  air  of  respectability  and  refinement  to  the 
act  of  drinking  old  Bourbon  therefrom.  Henry  Ander 
son  poured  the  liquid  into  the  glass.  The  trembling  of 
his  hand  indicated  that  this  was  not  his  first  potation 
for  that  day.  He  set  the  bottle  down  and  took  the 


144  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY.- 

glass  into  his  hand.  At  that  moment  Spence's  eyes 
began  to  roll,  the  bar-tender's  mouth  flew  open,  and 
Henry  Anderson  saw  a  shadow  fall  at  his  side  on  the 
bar,  and  felt  a  light  touch  upon  his  arm.  Looking 
around,  he  saw  Elizabeth  Oakford..  Such  was  his  as 
tonishment  that  his  fingers  instantly  relaxed,  and  the 
glass  fell  to  the  floor  and  ended  at  once  its  nefarious 
career. 

"Do  not  allow  me  to  disturb  you,  Mr.  Anderson," 
said  Elizabeth.  "Only  I  think  it  very  selfish  of  you 
to  enjoy  all  the  good  things  of  this  life  without  even 
offering  to  share  them  with  your  friends,  li  you  must 
drink,  I  am  going  to  drink  with  you.  Two  glasses,  if 
you  please,  Mr.  Spence.  Why  should  I  be  so  scrupu 
lous  about  my  own  vows  and  pledges,  when  so  many 
of  my  friends  make  pledges  only  that  they  may  break 
them  again  ?  Shall  I  pour  out  the  liquor,  Mr.  Ander 
son?"  She  took  up  the  bottle.  "Yes,  I  will  pour 'it 
out,  say  as  a  libation  to  the  gods.  Let  jolly  Bacchus 
have  it,  for  it  isn't  fit  for  the  use  of  man."  She  delib 
erately  emptied  the  bottle  into  a  large  spittoon  near  at 
hand. 

Henry  Anderson  was  not  only  astonished,  he  was 
absolutely  struck  dumb.  His  heart  was  in  his  throat. 
His  knees  trembled.  '  He  looked  at  Elizabeth  with  a 
helpless,  pitiable  expression,  as  a  condemned  man  may 
be  supposed  to  look  upon  his  executioner.  He  was 
utterly  at  a  loss  what  to  do.  Drinking  with  Elizabeth, 
or  with  any  one  else,  was  altogether  out  of  the  question. 
He  did  not  know  that  James  had  been  requested  by  his 
mother  to  follow  him,  so  as  to  be  at  hand  to  help  him 
in  case  of  need,  and  had  hurried  to  Elizabeth's  board 
ing  house,  as  soon  as  charged  with  that  solemn  com 
mission,  and  had  told  to  Miss  Oakford  the  whole  sad 
history.  He  did  not  know  that  James  and  Elizabeth 
had  followed  him  stealthily  about  the  streets  of  Wel 
lington,  till  he  had  disengaged  himself  from  his  com 
panions  and  sneaked  into  Spence's  saloon.  He  did  not 
know  that  Elizabeth  had  bade  James  wait  without,  lest 


A  LIBATION  TO  BACCHUS.  145 

he  should  become  the  victim  of  his  father's  anger,  and 
had  herself  boldly  assumed  the  revolting  task  of  follow 
ing  the  erring  man  into  the  saloon.  But  he  did  know 
that  she  was  there  now — like  some  Nemesis  suddenly 
confronting  him,-  and  reminding  him,  by  her  presence 
in  that  lazar-house,  of  all  his  broken  vows,  his  violated 
pledges,  his  degraded  manhood,  and  his  hellward 
career. 

He  bowed  his  head  and  stood  for  a  moment  with 
his  eye  fixed  upon  the  floor.  Then  he  turned  and 
walked  slowly  to  the  door,  not  so  much  as  thinking  of 
his  obligation  to  pay  for  the  broken  glass  of  the  spilled 
liquor.  Elizabeth  followed  him  into  the  open  air. 

"  Must  I  follow  you  for  the  rest  of  the  night?"  she 
asked  gently. 

"No,"  he  answered  in  a  tremulous  voice,  for  he 
knew  well  enough  what  she  meant. 

"  I  trust  you,"  she  said,  "for  I  believe  there  is  yet 
enough  of  manhood  about  Henry  Anderson  for  him  to 
keep  his  word  at  least  for  a  single  night." 

Not  another  sentence  was  uttered.  Henry  Ander 
son  walked  down  the  street  to  the  next  corner  of  the 
square,  where  he  was  met  by  Lyman  Sawtheaire  and 
Mayor  Trinkenviellager. 

"  Shall  we  have  something  to  drink  befo're  we  go?" 
inquired  Sawtheaire. 

"No,"  said  Henry  Anderson,  and  the  three  walked 
away  from  the  square  into  the  eastern  part  of  the  city. 

When  Elizabeth  followed  Henry  Anderson  from  the 
saloon,  James  was  standing  in  the  shade  near  the  trunk 
of  a  large  tree,  and  heard  their  brief  conversation.  His 
eyes  were  filled  with  tears  when  Elizabeth  sought  him, 
and  told  him  to  go  home  with  the  joyful  intelligence 
that  his  father  was  safe  for  that  night  at  least.  Invol 
untarily  he  seized  her  hand  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips, 
not  with  the  passionateness  of  a  lover,  but  with  the  ven 
eration  of  a  worshiper. 

Elizabeth  withdrew  her  hand,  not  rudely,  but  gently, 
and,  to  the  young  man's  astonishment,  entered  the 


146  A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

saloon  again,  where  she  found  Marion  Spence  prepar 
ing  to  extinguish  the  lights,  and  lock  up  the  saloon  for 
the  night. 

"  Mr.  Spence, "  she  began,  "I  am  not  here  to  quar 
rel  with  you,  but  to  talk  seriously  and  soberly  with 
you  for  a  few  moments. "  Spence  listened  courteously, 
at  which  his  bar-tender  was  considerably  incensed,  for 
if  he  was  master,  he  said  to  himself,  he  would  pitch 
her  headlong  into  the  street.  ' '  I  believe  you  are  a 
well-meaning  man,"  continued  Elizabeth,  "yes,  I  be 
lieve  you  are,  to  some  extent,  a  conscientious  man. 
Now,  will  you  do  me  the  courtesy  to  answer  a  few 
questions?" 

"  Certainly,  if  I  can,"  he  said. 

"  How  can  you  reconcile  your  conscience  and  your 
business?'* 

"  Why,  very  easily,  I  believe,  Miss  Oakford.  I 
endeavor  to  obey  the  law  in  every  particular — to  run 
my  saloon  in  harmony  with  the  will  of  the  Legislature. '' 

"  And  is  your  conscience  measured  by  the  law?" 

"  Certainly." 

' '  Then  you  refuse  to  sell  to  minors  because  the  law 
prohibits  such  sales?" 

"Certainly." 

"  If  the  sale  of  liquors  to  minors  was  not  unlawful, 
you  would  sell  to  them  ?" 

''Why,  I  suppose  I  would.  But  I  have  never 
thought  of  that  particularly." 

"If  the  law  allowed  you  to  sell  to  minors,  you 
would  sell  whisky  to  an  eight-year-old  boy,  and  watch 
the  little  fellow  drink  it  at  your  bar?" 

Marion  Spence's  face  began  to  grow  red. 

"No,  I  would  n't,  "he  said;  and  then,  by  way  of 
greater  emphasis,  "  certainly  not." 

"  Why  not?" 

"Why,  because — because — you  see — well,  the  fact 
is,  you  have  cornered  me,  Miss  Oakford,  and  I  '11  not 
try  to  dodge  the  truth.  My  conscience  is  surely  not 
measured  by  the  law.  I  wouldn't  sell  to  the  eight- 


A  LIBATION  TO  BACCHUS.  147 

year-old  boy,  because  he  is  too  young — he  might  be 
ruined." 

"You  think  then  that  an  eight-year  old  boy  is  too 
young  to  be  ruined?" 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"Mr.  Spence,"  said  Elizabeth,  as  she  looked  him 
unflinchingly  in  the  eye,  "tell  me  truly — is  n't  Henry 
Anderson  too  young  to  be  ruined '  f" 

She  looked  like  a  giantess  to  Marion  Spence  as  she 
hurled  this  question  into  his  face. 

"The  truth  is  that  you  would  not  sell  to  an  eight- 
year-old  boy  because  you  might  make  a  drunkard  of 
him.  And  yet  you  sell  to  Henry  Anderson  with  the 
possibility  of  converting  him  into  a  drunkard.  This 
day,  maddened  by  liquor,  he  has  made  his  home  a 
place  of  torment  for  his  wife  and  children.  You  sell 
liquor  to  sober  men — and  yet  these  and  their  families 
may  be  ruined  thereby.  I  ask  you  again,  how  can  you 
reconcile  your  conscience  and  your  business?" 

"That  seems  to  be  a  hard  question,  Miss  Oakford. 
I  have  thought  of  this  matter  before,  let  me  assure 
you — have  thought  of  it  seriously — and  shall  think  of 
it  again." 

"  Think  quickly,  then,  for  Heaven's  sake — for  the 
sake  of  drunken  men  and  their  miserable  families — for 
the  sake  of  your  own  self — and  abandon  this  business 
before  another  sun  rises,  if  you  hope  for  peace  with 
your  God." 

She  glided  from  the  room  as  quietly  as  she  had  come. 

"  I'd  pitch  her  into  the  street,  that 's  what  I  'd  do," 
said  the  bar-tender.  "  What  right  has  she  got  to  pour 
a  man's  whisky  into  a  spittoon,  and  try  to  break  up  his 
business?" 

"John,"  said  Marion  Spence  sternly,  "you  must 
not  speak  thus  of  Miss  Oakford  in  my  presence.  Un 
derstand  me  now.  She  may  be  right  about  this  matter. 
I'll  think  of  it — yes,  I'll  think  of  it  seriously." 

Elizabeth's  words  robbed  him  of  his  rest  that  night 
until  two  o'clock.  There  is  hope  if  a  sinner  can  be 


148  A    SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

made  to  lie  awake,  smitten  with  a  consciousness  of  his 
sins.  It  is  the  sinner  who  falls  into  a  sound  slumber  as 
soon  as  he  touches  his  bed,  for  whom  there  is  little 
hope. 


CHAPTER   X. 

EAVESDROPPING,    AND   SOME   OF   ITS    FRUIT. 

After  leaving  the  Squire's  office,  William  Manning 
went  to  his  own  office  and  seated  himself  at  his  table, 
and  undertook  to  concentrate  his  mind  on  a  volume  of 
Chitty  on  Pleading.  After  many  fruitless  efforts  to 
master  the  thoughts  of  the  learned  jurist,  he  threw  the 
book  down  in  disgust  at  its  intolerable  dullness,  and 
vowed  that  after  having  feasted  on  the  dessert  of  love,  he 
was  in  no  condition  to  be  regaled  with  the  strong  meat  of 
the  law.  And  really,  when  the  matter  is  seriously  con 
sidered,  there  are  many  things  in  this  world  as  impor 
tant,  even  to  a  lawyer,  as  a  knowledge  of  the  rules  of 
practice  and  pleading.  As  for  William  Manning,  his 
love  for  Katie  was  a  thousand  times  more  important  to 
his  happiness  and  success  in  life  than  all  the  erudition 
of  Blackstone,  Kent  and  Chitty  combined.  He  could 
live  on  love,  as  it  seemed  to  him — yes,  he  could  take 
his  sweet  Katie  to  some  bleak,  barren,  desolate,  storm- 
beaten,  bird-haunted  isle  of  the  sea,  where  other 
human  beings  had  never  trod,  and  where  Blackstone 
and  Chitty  ceased  their  troubling,  and  live  out  his  days 
in  sweet  content  and  unutterable  happiness.  Inasmuch, 
therefore,  as  he  could  live  on  this  great  passion  which 
was  now  flaming  in  his  soul,  it  was  not  especially  im 
portant  for  him  to  spend  the  fragments  of  this  par 
ticular  evening  in  the  study  of  his  law  books.  He  left 
his  office,  with  the  intention  of  strolling  about  the  city 
and  giving  way  to  a  free  indulgence  in  the  delightful 
reveries  of  love,  and  letting  the  morrow,  in  a  business 
way,  take  care  of  itself.  So  absorbed  was  he  in  his  own 
thoughts  and  emotions,  that  in  the  midst  of  the  busy 
city,  he  felt  as  faraway  from  his  fellow-creatures,  Katie 
excepted,  as  if  he  had  been  strolling  through  a  forest 
forty  miles  from  any  habitation. 


I5O  A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

In  front  of  Spence's  saloon  his  reverie  was  for 
a  moment  interrupted,  and  he  traitorously  forgot 
Katie  and  his  newly  aroused  love  for  her,  when  he  saw 
her  father  turning  from  the  sidewalk  into  the  door  of 
the  saloon.  Their  eyes  met.  Manning  was  so  aston 
ished  and  grieved  that  he  forgot  to  speak  or  bow,  but 
paused  and  looked  in  a  dazed  sort  of  way  at  his  pros 
pective  father-in-law,  till  the  green  screen  had  inter 
posed  its  protecting  shield  between  the  two. 

Henry  Anderson  made  no  attempt  to  speak  to  the 
astonished  attorney.  The  fact  is  that  the  former's  es 
pousal  of  Lyman  Sawtheaire's  cause  had  rendered  him 
shy  of  William  Manning,  as  is  very  often  the  case  with 
politicians,  and  he  had  an  increasing  desire  to  avoid  all 
intercourse  and  association  with  the  man  who  had 
saved  his  daughter  from  a  most  horrible  death,  and 
whom  he  was  now  ungratefully  opposing.  Then  his 
present  destination.  Spence's  saloon,  was  so  abhorrent 
to  William  Manning,  as  Anderson  well  knew,  that 'the 
latter  would  have  passed  on  by  if  he  had  seen  the  law 
yer  in  time ;  but  not  having  seen  him  till  he  had  turned 
towards  the  door,  and  thinking  it  was  then  too  late  to 
retreat,  he  had  no  desire  to  greet  Manning,  but,  with 
an  air  which  was  intended  to  say,  "I  have  not  seen 
you,  and  therefore  can  not  be  expected  to  speak,"  en 
tered  the  saloon  and  passed  out  of  sight. 

William  Manning  was  grieved,  deeply  grieved,  as 
with  an  aching  heart  he  thought  of  the  misery  and  woe 
which  Henry  Anderson's  present  course,  if  persisted  in, 
would  inevitably  bring  to  the  innocent  wife  and  chil 
dren.  Should  he  enter  the  saloon  and  interfere  ?  No  ; 
he  was  not  Henry  Anderson's  guardian,  and  his  inter 
ference  would  accomplish  no  good  results ;  nay,  would 
not  be  tolerated  by  this  headstrong  man  of  the  world, 
who  certainly  thought  himself  capable  of  attending  to 
his  own  affairs.  Therefore  the  young  man  walked  on. 
His  thoughts,  temporarily  deflected  from  the  object  of 
his  affection,  now  came  back  to  her,  and  so  deeply  was 
he  engrossed  with  this  pleasing  theme  that  he  took  no 


EAVESDROPPING,   AND  SOME  OF  ITS  FRUIT.  15  I 

notice  of  Lyman  Sawtheaire  and  Mayor  Trinkenviel- 
lager,  near  whom  he  passed  as  he  turned  away  from  the 
square  to  walk  slowly  towards  the  eastern  part  of  the 
city. 

His  footsteps  were  very  naturally  directed  along  that 
street  which  led  past  the  home  of  Henry  Anderson. 
It  would  indeed  have  been  an  unaccountable  whim  for 
him  to  take  any  other  street.  When  he  found  himself 
in  front  of  the  house  where  Katie  doubtless  was  at  this 
very  moment,  he  abated  his  pace,  in  the  vain  hope  that 
he  might  see  her  through  the  sitting-room  window.  He 
suffered  disappointment.  A  lamp  was  burning  in  the 
sitting-room,  and  the  window  was  open  ;  but  he  saw 
neither  substance  nor  shadow  of  Katie ;  for  at  this  very 
moment  she  and  her  mother  were  sitting  by  the  west 
window  of  Katie's  bed-room,  with  their  arms  around  each 
other,  with  darkness  around  them  and  gathering  gloom 
within,  without  an  intimation  that  the  youthful  lover 
was  passing  by,  hungering  for  a  glimpse,  for  even  the 
slightest  glimpse,  of  the  object  of  his  deep,  true  love. 

Manning  saw  no  one  in  the  house  or  about  the 
premises.  With  a  sigh  of  disappointment,  he  walked 
on  towards  the  east,  till  he  came  to  an  open  lot,  some 
distance  beyond  Mr.  Anderson's  residence,  on  which 
grew,  near  to  the  sidewalk,  a  clump  of  bushes  and  two 
or  three  large  trees.  Nature  seemed  to  have  designed 
this  place  especially  for  the  use  of  the  loafer  and  the 
lover.  It  was  indeed  the  favorite  haunt  of  both  char 
acters.  On  a  bright  moonlight  night,  when  the  balmy 
south  wind  was  breathing  over  the  city,  it  was  certainly 
delightful  for  a  pair  of  turtle  doves  to  wander  along  the 
sidewalk,  away  from  the  bustle  and  confusion  of  the 
city,  to  this  quiet  lovers'  retreat,  where  they  might  en 
gage  in  plighting  anew  their  troth  and  building  im 
mense  air-castles  for  the  future. 

Some  accommodating  hand  had  placed  in  this  clump 
of  bushes  a  plain  pine  bench  for  the  delight  of  those 
who  might  seek  here  a  suitable  place  for  rest  and  con 
versation,  for  the  discussion  of  business  affairs,  or  the 


I$2  A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

still  more  important  affairs  of  the  heart.  Doubtless, 
more  than  one  tale  of  love  had  been  unfolded  to  this 
audience  of  bushes,  and  perhaps  more  than  one  diabol 
ical  scheme  had  been  here  projected.  But  affairs  of 
either  kind  being,  from  their  very  nature,  conducted 
privately  and  secretly,  the  first  pair  of  lovers  or  plotters 
always  held  possession,  without  molestation,  till  they 
were  ready  to  vacate  the  premises  in  favor  of  their  suc 
cessors. 

Manning  pushed  the  bushes  aside,  and  found  the 
bench  unoccupied.  He  sat  down,  that  he  might  think 
of  Katie  and  of  the  future,  for  he  found  it  impossible 
to  fix  his  mind  on  business  or  the  coming  convention. 
If  he  turned  his  attention  to  the  campaign,  and  began 
to  interrogate  himself  concerning  his  prospects  and 
what  might  be  done  to  advance  his  interests,  his  mind, 
like  a  rudderless  ship,  in  a  moment  became  unmanage 
able,  and  was  at  the  mercy  of  the  tumultuous  waves  of 
his  absorbing  passion. 

He  spent  some  time  in  thinking  rapturously  of 
Katie — in  magnifying  her  beauty,  in  praising  her  ex 
cellencies,  in  exalting  her  above  the  human  into  the 
angelic,  almost  into  the  divine.  It  must  be  remembered 
that  this  was  Manning's  first  love,  and  he  was  fearfully 
in  earnest.  Had  his  sweetheart  had  faults  so  glaring 
that  he  who  runs  might  have  seen  them,  still  Manning, 
who  did  not  run,  could  not  have  discerned  in  her  the 
faintest  shadow  or  semblance  of  a  fault.  So  he  con 
verted  Katie  into  a  being  of  glorious  perfections.  The 
real  girl,  just  as  she  was,  certainly  was  sweet  enough 
and  beautiful  enough ;  but  when  she  was  viewed 
through  her  lover's  eyes,  she  was  charming  beyond  all 
expression. 

After  a  series  of  reflections  in  this  direction,  Man 
ning  suddenly  stumbled  against  a  few  obstacles  which 
readily  presented  themselves  in  the  way.  There  were 
some  difficulties  in  the  course  of  his  true  love  which  he 
had  forgotten  in  the  exaltation  of  the  past  few  hours. 
One  of  these  was  the  attitude  of  Henry  Anderson 


EAVESDROPPING,    AND    SOME    OF    ITS    FRUIT.  153 

towards  himself,  concerning  which  he  could  not  but  feel 
some  anxiety.  Another  was  his  own  financial  condi 
tion.  He  had  just  entered  upon  his  professional  career. 
Heretofore  he  had  been  able  to  earn  but  little  more 
than  was  necessary  for  his  own  subsistence.  True,  his 
practice  was  increasing;  but  he  must  either  succeed  in 
this  campaign,  or  find  more  clients,  before  he  would 
be  in  a  position  to  think  seriously  of  marriage.  He 
did  not  doubt  Katie's  fidelity  ;  he  had  an  abiding  con 
viction  of  her  constancy,  and  believed  she  would  re 
main  true  to  their  tryst  for  years,  if  need  be,  while  he 
was  extending  his  practice  and  preparing  himself  finan 
cially  for  the  charge  of  a  household.  He  consoled  him 
self  with  the  reflection  that  industry  and  honesty,  when 
united  even  with  ordinary  talents,  had  never  proved  a 
failure  in  this  world,  and  he  thought  it  not  egotism  to 
say  that  there  was  no  reason  why  his  case  should  prove 
an  exception. 

While  indulging  in  this  train  of  thought,  he  be-. 
came  aware  of  the  approach  of  several  persons.  .  Their 
steps  upon  the  sidewalk  could  now  be  distinctly  heard. 
At  first  he  was  unable  to  tell  how  many  there  were 
of  them,  or  whether  they  were  young  or  old,  lovers 
or  plotters.  As  they  drew  near  the  place  where  he 
was  seated,  and  paused,  and  began,  or  rather  contin 
ued,  a  low  conversation,  he  was  able  to  distinguish 
three  voices,  and  in  a  short  time  to  make  out  their 
identity.  They  were  Sawtheaire,  Trinkenviellager,  and 
Henry  Anderson. 

"There  is  a  bench  in  this  clump  of  bushes,  I  be 
lieve,"  said  one  of  them.  "Suppose  we  go  in  there 
and  sit  down. " 

"No,"  said  another,  "I  prefer  the  open  air.  Let 
us  sit  down  under  this  tree." 

They  stepped  from  the  sidewalk  and  sat  down  under 
a  large  oak  tree,  near  the  clump  of  bushes  in  which 
Manning  was  now  secreted,  and  where  he  had  been  in 
dulging  his  reveries.  Manning  found  himself  in  an 
awkward  situation.  While  it  was  no  crime  to  be  in 


154  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

the  lovers'  retreat,  without  any  companion,  at  that 
hour  of  the  night,  yet  his  emergence  therefrom  would 
cause  comment,  and  necessitate  his  saying  something 
to  the  worthy  trio  under  the  oak  tree.  He  was  too 
high-minded,  however,  to  become  even  by  chance  an 
eavesdropper,  under  any  ordinary  circumstances,  and 
was  about  to  manifest  his  presence,  that  he  might  not 
become  possessed  of  the  secrets  of  others,  when  the 
theme  of  their  conversation  was  divulged.  He  heard 
his  own  name  mentioned,  and  wondering  what  these 
three  men  could  have  to  say  about  himself,  he  forgot 
the  old  saying  that  eavesdroppers  never  hear  any  good 
of  themselves,  and  listened  intently  to  all  that  was  said. 

"  Ve  must  beat  dis  man  Manning,  Meester  Ander 
son,"  said  Trinkenviellager.  "  De  lipperties  of  de  beo- 
ple  vill  not  be  safe  if  he  iss  nominated.  De  law 
licenses  saloons.  But  dis  iss  a  hard  law.  It  depends 
on  how  you  take  him — you  take  him  at  vot  he  says, 
und  he  is  a  hard  law.  Ve  must  haf  a  brosecutor  vot  '11 
constroo  dis  law  right.  Ve  vant  a  man  to  make  de  con- 
strooction  vot '11  make  de  law  say  vot  he  don't  mean. 
Onderstand?" 

"  Well,  I  think  we  ought  to  have  a  man  who  will 
do  his  duty, "  said  Mr.  Anderson.  "I'm  rather  in  favor 
of  saloons,  but  I  think  the  law  should  be  enforced." 

"  My  views  exactly,"  said  Sawtheaire  hastily,  de 
sirous  of  drawing  the  conversation  away  from  this  dan 
gerous  ground.  He  well  knew  that  Anderson  was  no 
extremist,  and  that  Trinkenviellager,  on  the  question 
now  under  discussion,  was  an  extremist  of  the  most 
unreasonable  type.  To  permit  a  controversy  to  arise 
between  these  two  men  at  this  time  might  prove  an  irre 
mediable  injury  to  his  cause.  He  determined,  therefore, 
to  steer  them  away  from  this  dangerous  ground,  into  a 
locality  where  a  difference  of  opinion  would  not  be 
likely  to  arise.  He  continued :  "  You  and  the  Mayor 
really  agree,  though  you  do  not  express  yourselves  in 
the  same  language ;  but  we  have  not  time  for  the  dis 
cussion  of  unimportant  differences,  even  if  there  are 


EAVESDROPPING,    AND    SOME    OF    ITS    FRUIT.  155 

such.  On  the  great  principles,  and  the  objects  to  be 
accomplished  in  this  campaign,  I  trust  we  are  a  unit. 
Now,  I  '11  tell  you  why  our  party  can  not  afford  to 
nominate  Manning.  It  is  well  known  that  he  has 
shown  himself  to  be  a  fanatic  on  the  saloon  question, 
and  I  undertake  to  say  that,  for  that  reason,  if  for  no 
other,  he  can  not  be  elected  if  nominated.  I  think  I 
know  what  I  'm  talking  about.  A  great  many  of  our 
voters,  while  opposed  to  saloons,  are  yet  in  favor  of 
our  local  option  laws.  They  vote  against  license  in 
their  town  or  city,  but  they  say  it  is  according  to  the 
spirit  of  our  institutions  to  let  every  community  settle 
the  question  for  itself ;  in  other  words,  that  the  major 
ity  ought  to  rule.  Now,  Manning  goes  further  than 
this.  The  opinion  prevails  among  our  voters  here,  and 
;in  some  other  parts  of  the  county,  that  he  believes  in 
wiping  out  the  whole  business.  There  is  a  growing 
feeling  against  him  on  this  account.  The  people  are 
not  prepared  to  swallow  so  large  a  dose  at  one  time. 
I  undertake  to  say  that  scores  of  the  best  men  in  our 
party,  right  here  in  Wellington,  will  scratch  his  name 
off  of  the  ticket,  if  he  should  be  nominated." 

"Now,  Mr.  Sawtheaire, "  said  Henry  Anderson, 
' '  you  are  talking  business.  I  like  to  see  a  man  go 
straight  to  the  point.  Personally,  I  do  n't  care  what  a 
man's  opinions  are  on  this  subject.  As  far  as  I  am 
concerned,  I  can  respect  him  well  enough  if  he  is  an  ab 
solute  prohibitionist.  If  our  party  nominates  such  a 
man,  he  will  surely  have  my  vote.  It 's  none  of  my 
business  whether  he  believes  in  local  option  or  prohibi 
tion.  But  if  a  man  of  such  views  can  't  be  elected,  he 
ought  not  to  be  nominated.  We  want  to  know  what 
the  effect  of  such  a  nomination  would  be  at  the  polls. 
There  's  the  rub. " 

"De  deffel !  "  exclaimed  the  Mayor,  puffing  with 
indignation  at  the  mention  of  the  word  prohibition. 
"  Vot  man '11  vote  mit  brohibition?  Efery  saloon 
keeper  in  de  county,  mit  de  exception  of  dat  dog, 
Spence,  vill  vote  und  vork  against  dis  blamed  fool, 


156  A    SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

Manning.  You  elect  him  brosecutin'  attorney — de 
lipperties  of  de  beople  are  gone.  He  make  a  bad  con- 
strooction  of  de  law  !  See?  " 

"  Well,  I  'm  not  worrying  myself  so  much  about 
the  liberties  of  the  people,  Mayor,"  said  Sawtheaire, 
4 'as  I  am  about  what  is  best  for  the  party.  I 'm  a 
party  man,  through  and  through.  If  my  nomination 
will  endanger  our  success,  I  'm  willing  to  withdraw  my 
name  from  the  contest. " 

"Good!  good!"  exclaimed  Henry  Anderson,  en 
thusiastically.  Spoken  like  a  man  !  Your  words 
have  the  ring  of  true  patriotism  !  Sawtheaire,  I  'm 
beginning  to  show  age  in  my  face  ;  my  hair  is  turning 
gray,  and  I  expect  my  best  days  are  in  the  past.  But 
I  can  say  with  pride,  thank  the  Lord !  that  I  have  a 
clear  conscience,  politically.  I  've  never  yet  scratched 
a  ticket,  and  what 's  more,  I  never  expect  to  !  The 
question  with  me  is,  What  is  best  for  the  party  ?  I  'd 
vote  for  the  nominee  if  he  was  an  angel,  and  I  suppose 
I  'd  do  the  same  if  he  was  the  devil. "  Here  the  speaker, 
with  thoughtless  propriety,  slapped  Sawtheaire  upon 
the  knee.  "  But  I  'm  sorry  to  say  that  some  of  our 
folks  are  not  as  sound  as  I  am,  and  we  must  consider 
their  wishes.  We  want  to  succeed,  and  we  must  man 
age  to  keep  all  the  kickers  within  the  traces." 

"That  being  true,  Mr.  Anderson,"  began  Saw 
theaire,  "whatever  you  do,  you  can't  support  Man 
ning,  and" — 

"Haven't  I  promised  to  support  you,  Mr.  Saw 
theaire  ?  Can  't  you  rely  on  my  word  ?  Has  it  come 
to  this,  that  Henry  Anderson  is  supposed  to  be 
capable  of  promising  one  thing  and  doing  the  oppo 
site?" 

"Certainly  not,  Mr.  Anderson.  I  do  rely  on  your 
word.  I  meant  no  reflection — not  even  to  express  the 
faintest  doubt  of  your  faithfulness.  I  was  simply  argu 
ing  the  question.  The  word  '  you  '  was  used  in  an  im 
personal  sense.  What  I  meant  was,  and  I  repeat  it 
now,  that  our  party  dare  not  nominate  Manning.  I  '11 


EAVESDROPPING,     AND    SOME    OF    ITS    FRUIT.  157 

tell  you  why,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  agree  with  me. 
As  a  general  rule,  temperance  men,  and  even  prohi 
bitionists,  will  make  a  great  fuss  if  a  nomination  does  n't 
please  them ;  but  when  election  day  comes,  they  will 
march  up  to  the  polls,  and  take  their  dose.  Fact, 
strange  as  it  may  seem !  They  may  turn  up  their 
noses  and  make  wry  faces,  but  they  will  swallow  their 
dose — gulp  it  dov/n — vote  the  ticket  without  a  scratch, 
for  drinking  men,  saloon-keepers  and  everything  else 
which  appears  under  the  label  of  their  party.  Now, 
isn't  that  true?" 

"I  must  confess  that  such  is  my  experience,"  was 
the  answer. 

"So,  if  you  nominate  a  man  whose  views  are  ob 
noxious  to  the  temperance  people,  the  ticket  is  not  ma 
terially  weakened — don't  you  see?" 

"You  're  right  about  that.  A  blind  man  who  has 
been  in  politics  a  few  years  can  see  that." 

"On  the  other  hand,"  continued  Sawtheaire,  with 
the  manner  of  a  man  who  was  sure  of  his  point,  "if  you 
nominate  a  crank  on  the  liquor  question — of  course  you 
know  what  I  mean  by  crank — the  saloon-keepers  and 
their  friends,  and  a  portion  of  our  foreign  population, 
will  scratch  his  name,  party  or  no  party.  The  result 
is  our  ticket  is  weakened  by  the  nomination." 

' '  But  it  ought  not  to  be  so, "  said  Anderson.  "  I  've 
no  use  for  a  man  who  will  go  back  on  his  party." 

' '  That  is  n't  the  question  now, "  said  Sawtheaire.  "  It 
is  all  well  enough,  at  the  proper  time,  to  speculate  on 
what  ought  to  be,  and  what  is  right,  and  all  that.  But 
the  question  now  is,  not  what  ought  to  be,  but  what 
will  be.  We  can  test  the  matter  right  here.  There  is 
with  us  one  of  the  leading  men  of  our  party — one  of 
the  prominent  men  of  the  community — whose  opinion 
is  worth  much,  and  whose  influence  can  not  be  thrown 
away.  I  venture  to  say  that  the  Mayor  here  will  not 
vote  for  Manning  under  any  circumstances. " 

"You 're  right  about  dat,  Meester  Sawteaire.  I'll 
vork  against  de  infernal  crank,  und  vote  against  him. 


158  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

He  'd  ruin  eferyting  inside  of  a  year.  I  know  fifty  men 
vot  '11  scratch  him.  Hear  ?  Vot  you  tink  now,  Mees- 
ter  Anderson?  " 

"I  think,"  answered  Henry  Anderson,  "  that  the 
nomination  of  William  Manning  must  he  prevented  at 
all  hazards.  Why,  I  'm  surprised  !  I  didn't  know  the 
feeling  against  him  was  so  widespread.  Gentlemen, 
we  must  get  to  work.  I  've  been  resting  easy  over 
this  contest.  But  now  the  whole  situation  is  as  plain 
as  day — as  plain  as  day.  We  can  't  afford  to  weaken 
our  ticket  by  such  a  nomination,  this  year  of  all  years. " 

"True  enough,"  said  Sawtheaire.  "This  is  a  gen 
eral  election,  and  we  want  to  poll  our  full  strength. 
We  are  to  elect  a  president  and  a  governor  and  a  cir 
cuit  clerk,  and  other  important  officers.  We  must  put 
forth  our  best  foot,  as  the  saying  is." 

"I'll  start  to-morrow,  Sawtheaire.  Depend  upon 
me.  I'm  sorry  to  take  the  field  so  actively  against 
Manning,  for  I  believe  he  's  a  deserving  fellow.  But 
party  above  everything !  The  good  of  the  country 
demands  the  success  of  our  party!" 

This  important  question  having  been  settled  to  Ly- 
man  Sawtheaire's  entire  satisfaction,  he  thought  that 
the  last  remarks  of  Henry  Anderson  afforded  a  suitable 
opportunity  for  changing  the  theme,  and  bringing  to 
Henry  Anderson's  attention  some  other  matters  which 
he  and  the  Mayor  had  decided  to  lay  before  him.  Each 
of  these  men  had  his  own  personal  reason  for  desiring 
to  poison  Mr.  Anderson's  mind  against  William  Man 
ning.  Sawtheaire  thought  that  if  Anderson  could  be 
made  to  look  upon  Manning  with  suspicion,  he  would 
double  his  exertion  to  defeat  the  young  attorney  at  the 
polls.  That,  of  itself,  was  worth  striving  for.  But 
Savvtheaire  had  another  object  in  view.  He  had  been 
inclined  to  look  with  special  favor  on  Katie  Anderson, 
before  he  had  witnessed  the  scene  at  Mossy  Bank ;  but 
when  he  saw  Manning's  conquest — when  he  saw  the 
fair  Katie  in  his  rival's  arms,  with  her  head  upon  his 
shoulder,  what  had  before  been  a.  deepening  fancy 


EAVESDROPPING,     AND    SOME    OF    ITS    FRUIT.  159 

* 

upon  his  own  part  was  suddenly  developed  into  such 
a  passion  as  a  cold-blooded  being  could  entertain.  "  I  '11 
break  up  this  match,  by  Heaven  !  "  he  muttered.  And 
so  from  that  hour  he  determined  that  he  would  move 
heaven  and  earth  to  accomplish  that  end,  and  make 
her  his  wife.  It  appeared  to  him  that  the  first  step  to 
be  taken  was  to  create  prejudice  and  suspicion  in  the 
father's  mind  against  Katie's  lover,  and  thus  stop  their 
intercourse  as  far  as  possible.  Katie  was  an  obedient 
girl,  and  her  father's  admonition  or  command  would 
not  probably  be  disregarded  or  disobeyed  openly  or 
frequently.  The  less  the  lovers  should  see  of  each 
other,  the  less  they  should  converse  with  each  other,  the 
better  his  chances  for  alienating  Katie's  affections  from 
Manning.  At  least  so  he  reasoned. 

Trinkenviellager  was  moved  by  other  motives,  the 
principal  of  which  was  an  intense  and  deep-seated  ha 
tred  of  a  man  who  sought  to  interfere  with  what  the 
Mayor,  by  nature  and  from  education,  considered  a 
lawful  and  honorable  business.  He  was  heartily  in 
favor  of  anything  which  would  injure  Manning,  directly 
or  indirectly.  If  he  could  alienate  a  single  friend  from 
him,  that  was  good — that  was  something.  So  these 
two  men,  acting  from  different  motives,  but  for  a  com 
mon  end,  had  agreed  upon  their  plan  of  operation^,  and 
pledged  to  each  other  inviolable  faith  and  secrecy  as  to 
all  that  was  about  to  be  said  and  done.  Sawtheairc, 
therefore,  said  : 

"You  say  you  believe  Manning  is  a  deserving  fel 
low.  I  'm  not  surprised  at  that.  He  has  a  pleasant 
address  and  is  a  ready  talker,  and  able  to  make  friends 
with  the  unwary.  /  had  looked  upon  him  with  favor 
until  I  made  a  little  discovery  the  other  day,  by  the 
merest  accident,  which  has  entirely  changed  my  opinion 
of  the  man.  I  do  n't  know  when  I  have  been  so  shocked 
at  a  thing  which  really  did  not  concern  me.  But  we 
feel  an  interest  in  our  associates ;  and  especially  does  a 
lawyer  take  a  just  interest  in  the  standing  of  his  pro 
fessional  brethren.  I  can  talk  freely  on  the  subject 


160  A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

before  the  Mayor,  who  is  in  possession  of  all  the  facts, 
and  is  blessed  with  a  close  mouth.  My  suspicion  may 
not  be  well  founded,  and  if  the  matter  should  get  out 
it  would  undoubtedly  injure  the  young  man  in  our  com 
munity;  for  that  reason  I  trust  it  will  not  be  repeated 
by  either  of  you  at  present.  I  do  n't  want  to  in 
jure  the  young  man  unjustly.  I  have  even  hesitated 
about  telling  you,  Mr.  Anderson.  But  the  fact  is  that 
I  feel  it  to  be  my  duty.  You  have  been  a  friend  to 
me,  and  I  can  not  in  conscience  keep  silence  where  a 
member  of  your  family  is  concerned." 

"I  can't  conceive,  Mr.  Sawtheaire,  how  any 
member  of  my  family  can  be  concerned  in  any  suspi 
cion  about  Manning.  But  perhaps  you  can  explain. 
Goon." 

"Why,  it's  a  delicate  subject,"  said  Sawtheaire, 
lowering  his  voice  and  speaking  with  apparent  hesita 
tion.  "The  truth  is,  I  hardly  know  how  to  begin." 
He  paused  for  a  moment,  as  if  weighing  his  words, 
and  then  said :  ' '  Perhaps  you  do  not  know  that  it  is 
rumored  that  Manning  is  paying  unusual  attentions  to 
your  daughter — unusual,  I  mean,  for  a  friend." 

"  I  don't  know  what  rumors  are  afloat,  Mr.  Sawthe 
aire  ;  but  I  do  know  that  I  'm  capable  of  taking  care  of 
my  own  family,  and  whenever  I  want  any  outside  help, 
I  '11  call  for  it.  My  daughter,  sir,  will  permit  no  im 
proper  attention  from  any  young  man.  I  won't  sit  here 
and  permit  even  an  insinuation  to  the  contrary."  Up 
to  this  point  William  Manning  had  been  interested  in 
the  conversation ;  but  now  he  was  intensely  interested  ; 
so  much  so  that  he  scarcely  breathed,  lest  he  should 
fail  to  catch  the  full  meaning  of  what  was  said.  It  ap 
peared  from  the  sound  of  Mr.  Anderson's  voice  that  he 
arose  as  he  spoke  these  words.  And  so  he  did,  as  if 
with  the  intention  of  leaving  his  companions.  If  there 
had  been  light  enough  to  disclose  the  features  of  the 
stolid  German,  the  beholder  would  have  seen  his  eyes 
gradually  dilate  with  a  mixture  of  wonder  and  anxiety, 
as  though  he  would  have  said  to  Sawtheaire:  '"You 


EAVESDROPPING,   AND    SOME   OF    ITS    FRUIT.  l6l 

blamed  fool !  Vot  for  you  say  dat  ?' '  Sawtheaire  him 
self  felt  that  he  had  made  a  blunder.  He  said,  in  an 
earnest,  conciliatory  tone : 

"You  misunderstand  me,  Mr.  Anderson  ;  I  did  not 
use  the  word  improper;  I  said  unusual.  I  have  too 
high  a  regard  for  your  daughter  to  utter  a  single  word 
to  her  disparagement.  I  meant  simply  to  tell  you  that 
people  say  William  Manning  is  in  love  with  your 
daughter ;  and  surely  that  is  no  reflection  on  her  char 
acter." 

"Say  what  you  mean,  then,"  said  Anderson  curtly, 
as  he  sat  down  again. 

"I  shall  endeavor  to  do  so,"  was  the  answer. 
"  Now  to  proceed.  It  is  by  no  means  pleasant  for  me 
to  enter  upon  this  subject.  I  have  no  advice  to  give — 
no  explanation  to  offer.  I  propose  to  put  you  in  pos 
session  of  the  facts — that 's  all — and  leave  you  to  de 
termine  for  yourself  what  course  to  pursue.  William 
Manning's  marked  attentions  to  your  daughter  may  pro 
ceed  from  those  motives  which  should  actuate  a  gentle 
man  in  his  attentions  to  a  lady.  I  judge  no  man.  But  he 
is  rather  indiscreet  in  what  he  says,  sometimes.  I  should 
imagine  a  young  lady  would  not  be  pleased  to  have  her 
name  lightly  spoken  by  her  pretended  admirers." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  inquired  Anderson,  with 
considerable  feeling.  "If  Manning  has  spoken  evil  of 
my  daughter,  I  want  to  know  it.  Speak  out,  will  you?" 

"The  Mayor  will  tell  you,"  said  the  lawyer. 

"Retold  me, "said  the  Mayor,  "dat  Miss  Katie 
vould  do  veil  enough,  but  he  did  n't  tink  so  blamed 
much  of  de  girl  as  he  did  of  de  old  man's  money." 

"Did  he  say  that?"  asked  Anderson  tremulously. 

"Of  course  he  did.  Vot  you  take  me  for?"  an 
swered  Trinkenviellager,  indignantly. 

"The  scoundrel !"  exclaimed  Anderson.  "He'll 
get  neither  the  girl  nor  the  old  man's  money.  I  'm  as 
tonished  beyond  measure.  Well!  " 

"But  that  isn't  the  worst,  Mr.  Anderson,"  began 
Sawtheaire  again.  "True,  such  a  remark  is  uncom- 


1 62  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

plimentary  to  a  young  woman,  and  not  very  compli 
mentary  to  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life,  with  thirty  or 
forty  years  of  usefulness  yet  before  him.  But  one 
might  say  such  a  thing  thoughtlessly,  and  mean  no 
harm  by  it.  If  that  were  all,  it  would  n't  have  been 
worth  while  to  trouble  you  with  this  part  of  the  inter 
view — " 

"Yes,  it  would/1  interrupted  Anderson.  "Straws 
show — " 

"  Well, "  said  Sawtheaire,  laying  his  hand  on  An 
derson's  shoulder,  "hear  me  out.  Then  you  can  say 
what  you  please.  I  met  Manning  on  the  street  one 
day  last  week,  and  asked  him  for  certain  papers  which 
I  wanted  to  examine,  and  he  said  he  would  bring  them 
over  to  my  office  that  afternoon.  It  does  n't  matter 
now  what  the  papers  were,  but  they  related  to  an  es 
tate  in  the  settlement  of  which  some  of  my  clients  were 
interested.  That  afternoon,  sure  enough,  for  Manning 
is  a  punctual  fellow — I  '11  give  him  credit  for  that,  and  I 
would  n't  wrong  him  for  the  world — that  afternoon  he 
came  into  my  office  and  laid  the  papers  on  my  desk  be 
fore  me.  After  he  had  gone,  I  took  up  the  papers  and 
began  to  examine  them.  Among  them  I  found  a  letter 
— I  have  it  here.  If  I  had  for  a  moment  supposed  that 
the  letter  was  a  private  one,  I  would  n't  have  read  it  for 
the  world.  But  Manning  was  administrator  of  the  es 
tate,  and  I  supposed,  by  its  being  with  the  papers,  that 
it  was  a  letter  some  one  had  written  him  about  the  af 
fairs  of  the  estate.  Sometimes  claims  are  mailed  to  an 
administrator;  I  gave  the  matter  no  thought;  and  if  I 
had,  I  would  have  supposed,  as  I  have  said,  that  the 
letter  belonged  with  the  papers,  or  it  would  n't  have 
been  left  there." 

During  this  conversation,  Manning's  indignation 
had  been  gradually  increasing.  But  at  this  point  he 
could  hardly  restrain  himself. 

Sawtheaire  went  on  : 

"I  took  the  letter  out  of  the  envelope,  and  read 
it  through,  before  I  began  fully  to  realize  its  import. 


EAVESDROPPING,    AND    SOME    OF    ITS    FRUIT.  163 

I  remember  the  substance,  and  can  repeat  it.  It  began 
with  the  words,  '  Dear  old  friend. '  It  then  stated  that 
Mr.  Manning's  friends  were  well ;  that  Miss  Bessie  was 
in  good  health,  and  growing  lovelier  every  day ;  that 
the  writer  was  more  than  repaid  for  being  the  medium 
of  communication  between  them  by  thus  getting  for 
himself  an  occasional  interview  with  the  young  lady; 
that  he  would  mail  this  letter  from  Philadelphia, 
whither  he  was  going  on  the  following  day,  so  that  no 
one  would  get  even  the  slightest  clew  to  Manning's 
whereabouts.  The  writer  urged  Manning  to  hold  on 
firmly  to  his  assumed  name,  for  the  danger  was  not 
yet  past,  and  stated  that  he  would  continue  to  address 
his  letters  as  before,  and  closed  by  saying  that  Miss 
Bessie  sent  her  love  and  kisses  as  usual.  The  letter 
was  signed  '  X, '  and  there  was  nothing  to  indicate 
where  it  was  written.  The  post-mark  on  the  envelope 
showed  that  it  was  mailed  from  Philadelphia."  Here 
Mr.  Sawtheaire  paused,  that  he  might  render  what  he 
was  about  to  add  so  much  the  more  impressive.  "  Mr. 
Anderson,"  he  resumed,  "I  have  thought  this  matter 
over  carefully  and  seriously.  I  have  been  unable  to 
obtain  the  slightest  clew  which  will  enable  me  to  un 
ravel  the  mystery.  Knowing  that  Manning  was  at 
least  a  candidate  for  your  daughter's  favor,  I  thought 
my  obligations  to  you  were  stronger  than  my  obliga 
tions  to  Manning,  so  I  returned  the  papers,  but  kept 
the  letter.  Here  it  is.  I  do  n't  ask  you  to  take  my 
word  for  it.  Take  it,  read  it,  and  return  it  to  me  to 
morrow.  I  want  you  to  see  it  for  yourself." 

"This  is  extraordinary!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Ander 
son. 

"I'll  bet  he's  a  blamed  tief,  or  murderer,"  said 
the  Mayor. 

"Don't  be  too  hasty,  friends,"  interposed  Sawthe 
aire.  "  Everything  may  be  susceptible  of  an  explana 
tion  consistent  with  honesty  and  good  character.  I, 
for  one,  propose  to  know  what  the  explanation  is.  It 
is  well  known  that  Manning  has  assumed  the  role  of 


164  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

Melchisedec  among  us,  and  it  is  about  time  for  his  mys 
teries  to  be  exposed.  No  one  has  ever  heard  him 
speak  of  his  father,  or  mother,  or  friends,  or  native 
place  —  his  past  life  is  a  sealed  book.  If  the  subject 
is  mentioned,  or  you  ask  him  where  he  is  from,  or 
whether  he  has  father,  mother,  brother  or  sister,  he 
evades  your  question,  and  you  are  left  as  wise  as  when 
you  began.  This  certainly  looks  suspicious;  and  yet 
he  may  be  all  right." 

"Well,  Mr.  Manning  will  find  no  welcome  at  my 
house  till  he  clears  up  this  mystery,"  said  Mr.  Ander 
son,  emphatically.  "  I  won't  harbor  a  man  about  me 
who  wears  an  assumed  name.  Something 's  wrong 
somewhere  !  Mark  my  words  !  The  gentleman  must 
now,  beyond  all  doubt,  rise  and  explain  before  he  can 
win  favor  with  my  daughter,  or  get  any  of  the  '  old 
man's  '  money.  I  '11  hand  you  this  letter  to-morrow, 
Sawtheaire.  It  must  be  ten  o'clock,  so  I  '11  be  go- 
ing." 

"It  is  hardly  necessary  to  enjoin  secrecy,  I  sup 
pose,  sir,"  said  Sawtheaire. 

"  Not  at  all,"  was  the  answer.  "  I  'm  as  much  in 
terested  in  this  matter  as  you  can  possibly  be.  Secrecy 
is  necessary,  if  we  want  to  tear  the  mask  from  the  man. 
He  's  the  last  person  on  earth  I  'd  have  taken  for  a 
rascal !  Well,  well !  I  wonder  what  will  come  next !  " 

The  three  men  arose,  and  Sawtheaire  said : 

"Gentlemen,  I  have  a  call  to  make  in  the  north 
east  part  of  the  city.  A  friend  of  mine  half  promised 
to  go  into  the  country  for  me  to-morrow — said  he 
would  let  me  know  positively  to-night.  So  I  must  find 
out  what  he  is  going  to  do.  If  he  has  decided  to  go, 
I  want  to  give  him  some  instructions,  so  as  to  prevent 
mistakes." 

They  separated  for  the  night.  Henry  Anderson 
and  the  Mayor  repaired  to  their  respective  homes. 
The  former  found  his  faithful  wife  waiting  in  the  sit 
ting-room  for  his  return,  not  agitated  with  dread  ap 
prehensions,  however,  as  in  the  early  part  of  the  even- 


EAVESDROPPING,    AND    SOME    OF    ITS    FRUIT.      .    1 6$' 

ing,  for  James  had  returned  home  and  told  his  mother 
and  sister  what  had  occurred  between  his  father  and 
Elizabeth  at  Marion  Spence's  saloon.  So  the  wife  was 
expecting  her  husband  to  come  home  duly  sober.  The 
two  conversed  earnestly  for  an  hour  or  more,  and  then 
retired,  And  now  we  will  leave  the  Anderson  family 
till  the  following  day. 

In  the  extreme  northeastern  part  of  "the  city  was  an 
addition  called  Wilson's  Addition,  consisting  of  thirty 
or  forty  houses  and  one  or  two  stores,  and  separated 
from  the  city  proper  by  a  creek  and  six  or  eight  hun 
dred  feet  of  open,  unoccupied  land.  Sawtheaire  had 
told  the  truth  concerning  his  errand  into  this  isolated 
portion  of  Wellington,  and  now  set  forth,  at  a  brisk 
walk,  to  interview  his  friend  for  a  few  minutes,  and 
thus  close  the  labors  of  an  active  day. 

Manning  followed,  with  vengeance  in  his  heart. 
This  accomplished  villain,  Lyman  Sawtheaire,  had  not 
only  gone  over  the  county,  with  flattery  and  lying  upon 
his  lips,  to  secure  the  nomination  for  State's  attorney, 
by  fair  means  or  foul,  but  he  and  the  Mayor  had  just 
now  grossly  misrepresented  one  who  had  done  them  no 
harm.  The  Mayor  had  lied  when  he  had  said  that 
Manning  had  ever  spoken  of  Henry  Anderson  as  the 
"old  man,"  or  expressed  a  desire  to  secure,  through 
Katie,  any  part  of  that  gentleman's  fortune.  This 
falsehood  had  undoubtedly  been  concocted  by  the  two, 
and  put  into  the  Mayor's  mouth  as  a  makeweight  from 
another  witness,  to  confirm  Sawtheaire's  other  state 
ments.  This  was  enough,  of  itself,  to  excite  Man 
ning's  indignation,  and  to  make  the  blood  rush  like  a 
torrent  through  his  veins.  His  wily  enemy  had  played 
the  part  of  a  professional  spy  with  reference  to  the  let 
ter  from  "X."  Manning  could  not  deny  that  he  had 
received  the  letter,  or  that  Sawtheaire  had  obtained  it 
in  the  manner  related  by  him,  nor  could  he  controvert 
or  explain  the  statements  of  the  letter.  He  was  forced 
to  admit  that  circumstances  were  against  him ;  but  he 
knew  that  Sawtheaire  was  acting  hypocritically,  and 


1 66  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

not  from  honest  motives,  and  was  making  use  of  the 
letter  for  ulterior  and  unworthy  ends.  The  very  fact 
that  he  could  neither  deny  nor  explain  the  statements 
of  the  letter  but  intensified  his  anger.  As  he  followed 
Sawtheaire,  his  passion  increased.  At  last  he  lost  con 
trol  of  himself,  and  called  out:  "Sawtheaire!  Saw 
theaire  !"  That  gentleman  stopped  and  turned  around. 
In  a  moment  they  were  facing  each  other,  within  ten 
feet  of  the  bridge  which  spanned  the  creek. 

"You  villain!  scoundrel!"  cried  Manning,  sup 
pressing  his  rage  as  much  as  possible.  "  I  have  over 
heard  your  conversation  with  Henry  Anderson  !  I  de 
nounce  you  as  a  liar,  and  a  dirty  dog!  " 

"Why,  what 's  the  matter  ?  Do  n't  make  a  fool  of 
yourself! " 

"That  letter,"  cried  Manning,  "that  letter  !  Bring 
me  that  letter  to-morrow,  or  I  '11  kill  you  !  " 

"Don't  get  excited,  my  friend,"  said  Sawtheaire, 
coolly  and  tantalizingly.  He  had  his  hand  upon  his 
pistol,  and  was  even  meditating  how,  under  the  pre 
tense  of  self-defense,  he  might  kill  his  adversary,  and 
put  an  end  to  all  rivalry  from  Manning  in  politics  and 
love,  and  at  the  same  time  be  justified  under  the  law 
in  his  dreadful  act.  ' '  Tell  us  who  you  are,  and  you 
can  have  the  letter,"  he  said  in  his  most  aggravating 
tones. 

"It's  none  of  your  business  who  I  am!  I'll  have 
that  letter  or  your  blood  !  " 

"You'll  have  to  take  my  blood  then.  Help  your 
self,  if  you  can  get  it." 

"You  infernal  scoundrel!  "cried  Manning,"! — I — I 
I  '11  endure  this  no  longer.  You  're  a  liar !  rascal  ! 
coward !  " 

Now  Sawtheaire  was  a  shrewd,  unprincipled  man, 
who  preferred  to  accomplish  his  ends  by  intrigue  and 
circumvention,  rather  than  by  fair  means,  or  even  by 
force.  But  he  was  by  no  means  a  coward — especially 
when  his  hand  was  resting  upon  a  pistol  loaded  with 
six  cartridges.  The  last  word  stirred  his  blood  as  no 


EAVESDROPPING,    AND   SOME    OF    ITS    FRUIT.         167 

other  had  done,  and  he  whipped  his  pistol  out  of  his 
pocket. 

"  You  villain !"  he  hissed,  "that's  more  than  I'll 
take  from  anybody  !  " 

There  was  light  enough  for  Manning  to  see  the 
motion  of  his  antagonist's  arm,  and  he  realized  at  once 
his  great  peril.  Angered  beyond  measure  by  the  sense 
of  the  repeated  wrongs  Sawtheaire  had  done  him,  and 
utterly  regardless  for  the  moment  of  the  consequences, 
and  knowing  that  he  must  act  promptly  or  Sawtheaire 
might  take  his  life,  he  threw  himself  upon  his  enemy 
like  a  tiger,  wrenched  the  pistol  from  his  grasp,  and 
hurled  him  to  the  ground,  while  he  dealt  him  blow  after 
blow  upon  his  face  and  body,  till  Sawtheaire  ceased  re 
sistance,  and  begged  for  mercy. 

"I  ought  to  kill  you  !  "  exclaimed  Manning,  flushed 
with  anger  and  victory.  "  Here,  with  your  own  pistol, 
with  which  you  purposed  to  take  my  life  !  But  I  '11  not 
have  your  vile  blood  upon  my  hands  !" 

He  threw  the  pistol  into  the  creek. 

Sawtheaire  crawled  slowly  to  his  feet,  and  wiped  the 
blood  from  his  face. 

"You  '11  suffer  for  this,"  he  groaned.  "  I'll  make 
you  sorry  you  ever  lived  to  see  this  day." 

"  Bring  me  that  letter  to-morrow, "  said  Manning, 
advancing  again.  "  Do  you  hear  me?'1 

"I  hear  you,"  said  the  other. 

"Will  you  bring  me  the  letter?" 

"  I  '11  speak  to  my  friends  about  it." 

"  Will  you  bring  me  the  letter  ?  "  Manning  now  had 
the  wretch  by  the  throat. 

"Yes,"  he  gurgled  forth,  but  with  an  inward  re 
solve  that  he  would  not.  Manning  released  him,  and 
said  : 

(t  Cross  my  pathway  again,  you  dog,  and  I  '11  pound 
you  into  a  jelly.  I  have  tried  to  be  honest  and  truth 
ful,  and  to  do  my  duty.  You  have  abused  me  and  lied 
about  me,  till  I  can  stand  it  no  longer.  But  I  have  a 
temper,  and  you  '11  find  that  I  '11  strike  if  you  crowd  me 


1 68  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

too  far.  Do  you  understand  ?  Now,  go,  and  have  me 
arrested.  I  'm  ready  for  trial,  and  will  have  you  in 
court  for  carrying  concealed  weapons." 

"You  will  not  be  arrested  now — not  now, "  whis 
pered  Sawtheaire.  "  But  when  the  proper  time  comes, 
you  '11  feel  my  power.  Mark  what  I  say !  " 

Sawtheaire  was  forced  to  abandon  all  further  busi 
ness  for  that  evening.  Taking  the  back  streets  and 
alleys,  he  hobbled  away  to  his  boarding-house,  where 
he  washed  and  dressed  his  wounds  and  bruises,  and 
concocted  a  story  of  a  fall  from  the  bridge  into  the 
creek  to  account  for  his  physical  condition.  It  was 
certainly  not  his  present  intention  to  prosecute  for  the 
assault ;  for  he  was  a  very  cautious  man,  was  Lyman 
Sawtheaire,  and  thought  it  preferable  to  smother  his 
resentment,  and  find  some  other  means  for  vengeance 
than  the  prosecution  of  his  enemy,  who  might,  in  turn, 
cause  him  to  be  prosecuted  for  carrying  concealed 
weapons.  Besides,  a  public  prosecution  of  Manning 
would  give  to  the  citizens  of  Wellington  and  vicinity  a 
description  of  the  very  neat  manner  in  which  his  an 
tagonist  had  knocked  him  down  and  beaten  him  and 
humiliated  him ;  and  he  was  too  proud  to  cause  a  pub 
lication  of  his  own  disgrace.  Lastly,  Manning,  if  pros 
ecuted,  might  be  able  to  show  that  he  had  acted  in 
self-defense,  and  the  result  of  the  trial  might  be  an  ac 
quittal  ;  from  all  of  which  there  might  accrue  some 
harm  to  his  own  beloved  self,  in  the  impairment  of 
his  reputation  for  success  in  all  his  enterprises.  In 
short,  the  prosecution  of  Manning  might  become  a 
boomerang  to  knock  Lyman  Sawtheaire  down.  So  this 
distinguished  individual  determined  to  swear  that  he 
was  bruised  and  battered  by  falling  from  the  bridge 
into  the  creek,  and,  as  time  wore  on,  to  keep  a  sharp  look 
out  for  an  opportunity  to  be  revenged  after  the  Mach- 
iavelian  plan.  He  resolved  to  search  the  creek  for  his 
pistol  as  soon  as  possible,  for  it  might  rise  as  a  .witness 
against  him  in  certain  possible  contingencies.  He 
further  resolved  that  Manning  should  not  have  pos- 


EAVESDROPPING,   AND    SOME    OF    ITS    FRUIT.  169 

session  of  the  Philadelphia  letter,  but  that  he  himself 
would  keep  it  for  further  use.  He  wisely  concluded 
that  Manning  would  not  mention  the  letter  to  Henry 
Anderson,  for  he  was  evidently  in  no  position,  for  some 
strange  reason,  to  reveal  his  identity. 

How  different  were  the  feelings  of  William  Man 
ning  that  night,  as  he  tossed  about  upon  his  bed,  vainly 
seeking  to  forget  his  trouble  in  sleep !  Who  would 
undo  the  complications  of 'this  day  of  strange  happen 
ings? 

What  prospect  was  there  now  of  obtaining  Henry 
Anderson's  ratification  of  the  vows  and  promises  made 
at  Mossy  Bank  ?  Had  not  Katie's  father  said  that  he 
would  not  admit  to  the  hospitality  of  his  house  any 
man  who  was  living  under  an  assumed  name  ?  Would 
not  the  father  seek  to  poison  th'e  mind  of  the  daughter 
against  her  lover?  These  and  hundreds  of  similar 
questions  thronged  his  mind  and  disquieted  his  soul. 
There  seemed  but  one  way  out  of  all  these  embarrass 
ments — a  full  and  frank  revelation  of  the  facts  of  his 
past  life.  That  course,  which  alone  promised  hope  for 
him  and  Katie,  could  not  at  present  be  adopted. 

Besides  all  these  causes  of  unrest,  the  recollection 
of  his  recent  encounter  with  Sawtheaire  gave  him  no 
little  concern.  In  a  misguided  moment,  he  had  lost  con 
trol  of  his  temper  and  had  done  an  act  the  consequences 
of  which  he  was  wholly  unable  to  foresee.  He  lay 
there,  a  self-convicted  violator  of  the  law.  His  provo 
cation  had  been  great.  Sawtheaire  had  drawn  a  pistol 
with  which  to  assault  or  intimidate  him.  But  he  him 
self,  while  legally  justified  on  the  ground  of  self-defense, 
was  nevertheless  partly  responsible  morally  for  the  con 
troversy.  If  he  had  borne  Sawtheaire's  indignities  and 
insults,  and  had  gone  to  his  room  without  following  and 
chastising  that  villainous  individual,  he  might  have  had 
more  peace  of  conscience.  "  Yet, "  he  thought,  "  if  I 
had  that  ordeal  to  go  through  with  again,  even  with  the 
knowledge  of  the  feelings  that  were  to  follow,  I  believe 
I  would  do  as  I  have  done." 


170  A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

At  last  he  fell  into  a  troubled  slumber.  He  dreamed 
of  duels  and  hangings,  and  all  other  kinds  of  distressing 
events  and  direful  catastrophes.  But  after  a  few  hours 
his  dreams  ceased,  and  he  slept  peacefully  enough ;  and 
when  he  awoke  in  the  morning,  the  sun  was  shining 
into  his  room  with  its  old-time  vigor,  and  the  birds 
were  singing  merrily  in  the  trees. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

LOVE'S   THORNY  PATHWAY. 

Mr.  Anderson  conversed  with  Mrs.  Anderson  till  a 
late  hour,  after  his  return  home  from  the  lovers'  re 
treat,  on  the  subject  now  uppermost  in  his  thoughts — 
the  identity  and  character  of  William  Manning-.  He 
felt  that  his  obligation  to  secrecy  did  not  bind  him  to 
withhold  from  his  wife  what  seemed  to  concern  so  near 
ly  the  child  whom  they  adored.  He  related  to  her  in 
detail  his  conversation  with  Sawtheaire  and  Trinken- 
viellager.  He  expressed  the  opinion  that  all  considera 
tions  of  gratitude  towards  Manning  ought  to  yield  to 
the  higher  and  more  solemn  charge  which  rested  upon 
them  of  protecting  their  innocent  child  against  the  ad 
vances  of  an  adventurer. 

Mrs.  Anderson  remarked  that  she  had  noticed  un 
mistakable  indications  of  a  fondness  for  each  other's 
company  in  the  demeanor  of  Katie  and  Mr.  Manning, 
and  had  not  been  at  all  displeased,  but  rather  gratified 
on  that  account,  as  she  entertained  a  high  regard  for 
the  young  man,  and  thought  that  if  he  could  win 
Katie's  affections  he  had  certainly  earned  a  right  to 
claim  her  as  his  own.  As  far  as  she  had  observed, 
Manning  had  at  all  times  conducted  himself  as  a  per 
fect  gentleman.  He  had  shown  himself  to  be  kind, 
courteous,  obliging  and  unselfish.  She  admitted  that 
she  had  already  begun  to  regard  him  with  a  sort  of 
maternal  affection,  and  to  feel  a  deep  interest  in  his 
prosperity.  She  thought  that  Katie  should  be  allowed 
to  choose  her  own  lover,  without  the  interference  of 
her  parents,  unless  her  choice  was  manifestly  an  im 
proper  one.  She  regretted  that  her  husband  had  felt 
it  his  duty  to  oppose  Manning  in  the  interests  of  Saw 
theaire,  in  the  pending  political  struggle,  inasmuch  as 
this  course  might  raise  a  barrier  betwen  Katie  and  Will- 


I72  A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

iam  Manning,  and  blight  their  daughter's  prospects  of 
a  happy  union  with  this  excellent  young  man.     In  short, 
she  confessed,  after  some  hesitation  and  circumlocution, 
that  her  heart  was  set  upon  the  marriage  of  the  two 
young  people. 

Henry  Anderson  agreed  with  his  wife  to  a  certain 
extent.  He  himself  had  been  favorably  disposed 
towards  the  young  man.  The  time  had  been  when  he 
would  have  been  contented  to  receive  him  as  a  son-in- 
law,  though  he  had  never  felt  especially  enthusiastic  on 
the  subject.  But  his  present  feelings  were  adverse, 
yes,  even  hostile  to  Manning ;  and  he  was  glad  that 
Katie  had  as  yet  formed  no  attachment  for  him,  and 
was  determined  that  no  love  affair  should  spring  up  be 
tween  them  till  Manning  had  removed  the  suspicion 
which,  under  the  revelations  of  the  letter  from  "X," 
now  rested  upon  him  and  clouded  his  character.  The 
letter  showed  clearly  that  some  sort  of  intimacy  existed 
between  Manning  and  a  young  woman  named  Bessie. 
The  only  construction  which  could  be  put  upon  the 
words  of  "X"  was  that  Bessie  and  Manning  were 
lovers.  This  being  true,  Manning's  attentions  to  Katie 
could  not  proceed  from  pure  motives,  and  could  no 
longer  be  tolerated.  And  besides,  the  letter  convicted 
the  young  attorney  of  living  here  under  an  assumed 
name.  It  seemed  that  he  had  been  using  every  precau 
tion  to  conceal  his  identity,  and  that  there  was  danger  in 
an  avowal  of  his  name.  Such  a  man  was  in  no  position 
to  seek  either  the  company  or  the  affections  of  any  re 
spectable  young  woman. 

"  I  can  hardly  credit  the  story,"  said  Mrs.  Ander 
son.  "I  think  Messrs.  Sawtheaire  and  Trinkenviel- 
lager  are  Manning's  enemies,  and  are  seeking  to  injure 
him  as  far  as  possible.  Now  take  what  the  Mayor  says 
Manning  told  him.  I  do  not  believe  Mr.  Manning  said 
any  such  thing.  And  you  wouldn't  believe  a  word  of 
that  silly  story,  Henry,  were  you  not  already  predis 
posed  against  the  young  man.  Why  should  Manning 
say  such  a  thing,  even  if  he  thought  it  ?  Why  should 


LOVES   THORNY    PATHWAY.  1/3 

he  make  a  confidant  of  Trinkenviellager,  his  open  ene 
my,  and  a  man  for  whom  Manning  has  no  respect  what 
ever  ?  Why  should  these  two  men  repeat  these  words 
to  you  ?  Even  if  Manning  said  what  the  Mayor  says 
lie  did,  he  committed  no  grave  crime.  Such  a  trivial 
thing  ought  not  to  stand  in  the  way  of  the  happiness 
of  the  young  people,  if  they  are  really  in  love.  We 
are  getting  old,  dearest ;  and  as  far  as  our  money  is 
concerned,  let  the  children  have  it,  when  we  are  done 
with  it.  If  that  money  can  bring  love  and  happiness 
to  Katie,  it  would  certainly  be  one  of  the  best  things 
money  could  possibly  accomplish.  I  admit  that  the 
other  matter  is  more  serious — that  it  does  seem  strange 
that  William, Manning  should  suffer  his  past  life  to  be 
veiled  in  obscurity.  And  yet,  notwithstanding  all  this, 
he  can  not  be  a  bad  man.  If  he  is,  it  is  a  mistake  to 
say  the  face  is  a  mirror  of  the  soul." 

"There  can  be  no  doubt,  Mary,  that  Manning  is 
living  here  under  an  assumed  name.  Here 's  the  letter. 
Read  it  for  yourself.  It  is  most  convincing  proof." 

Mrs.  Anderson  read  the  letter  carefully,  and  sighed 
as  she  returned  it  to  her  husband. 

"It  does  look  strange;"  she  admitted.  "I  sup 
pose  the  letter  is  not  a  forgery  ?  I  haven't  any  confi 
dence  whatever  in  Sawtheaire.  I  believe  he  would  do 
anything  to  injure  an  enemy,  or  accomplish  his  de 
signs." 

"You  do  him  wrong,  Mary.  He  could  have  no 
reason  for  committing  so  bold  a  forgery  as  this.  Be 
sides,  the  statements  in  this  letter  are  in  harmony  with 
what  little  we  do  know  of  Manning.  No  man  has 
ever  heard  Manning  tell  where  he  was  born,  or  where 
he  came  from.  He  evades  every  question  which 
reaches  into  his  personal  history  back  of  his  life  at  Wel 
lington.  Does  n't  that  harmonize  with  the  statements 
of  the  letter?  Do  n't  you  remember  the  day  he  was 
at  the  farm,  while  Katie  was  sick  in  bed,  when  I  asked 
him  what  part  of  New  York  he  was  from  ?  Don't  you 
remember  the  question,  and  his  answer  —  that  he 


1/4  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

preferred  not  to  answer  the  question  ?     I  tell  you,  Mary, 
there  is  something  crooked  in  his  past  life." 

Mrs.  Anderson  maintained  her  silence,  for  she  was 
unable  to  deny  the  force  of  what  her  husband  had  just 
said.  Yet  she  would  have  denied  every  assertion  de 
rogatory  to  Mr.  Manning's  character,  if  she  could  have 
found  any  justification  for  so  doing.  Her  eyes  had 
seen  more  than  Henry  Anderson's,  and  she  knew  that 
a  strong  attachment  existed  between  Katie  and  the 
young  attorney,  and  she  knew  further  that  her  daugh 
ter  was  one  of  those  true,  loyal  creatures  who  would 
hold  on  with  unshaken  fidelity  to  the  object  of  her  af 
fection.  She  feared  the  consequences  of  an  effort  to 
divorce  their  hearts. 

After  a  while  she  said : 

"Well,  Henry,  these  love  affairs  are  indeed  deli 
cate,  and  must  be  prudently  dealt  with,  or  the  lives  of 
both  parties  interested  may  be  wrecked.  Suppose  such 
suspicions  had  been  raised  concerning  you.  Do  you 
believe  I  would  have  listened  to  them  for  a  mo 
ment  ?  Would  n't  I  have  explained  away  every  cir 
cumstance,  and  have  believed  and  trusted  you  still  ? 
And  would  n't  you  have  praised  me  for  my  fidelity, 
and  loved  me  all  the  more  devotedly  on  that  account  ? 
Henry,  we  too  often  forget  our  own  youth.  We  should 
remember  that  the  young  of  to-day  love  just  as  the 
young  of  yesterday  did,  and  that  Katie  will  cling  to 
Manning  through  good  and  ill  report,  just  as  I  would 
have  clung  to  you  when  we  were  lovers  in  old  Ken 
tucky ;  yes,  just  as  I  cling  to  you  in  the  maturity  of 
our  lives  in  Illinois." 

Henry  Anderson  winced  just  a  little ;  for  his  wife's 
words  were  suggestive  of  a  true,  earnest,  loving  wo 
man,  whom  he  knew  intimately,  who  had  borne  un- 
kindness  in  word  and  act,  during  the  last  few  months, 
from  the  husband  who  had  sworn  to  love  and  protect 
her,  without  a  single  unkind  look  or  utterance  on  her 
part  in  retaliation. 

''You  don't  mean,  Mary,  that  this  matter  has  gone 


LOVE'S    THORNY    PATHWAY.  175 

so  far?"  he  asked.  "You  don't  mean  that  they  are 
really  in  love  ?  " 

"I  fear  such  is  the  case,"  she  answered.  "And 
you  know  Katie  is  not  easily  turned  aside  from  her 
purposes." 

"Yet  I  think,  Mary,  it  is  our  duty  to  warn  Katie 
against  the  addresses  of  William  Manning.  I'll  never 
consent  to  any  engagement  between  them  till  I  know 
what  this  letter  means.  I  will  discharge  my  duty  in  the 
morning,  and  would  like  to  have  you  present.  I  in 
tend  to  speak  with  all  kindness  and  forbearance.  If 
she  does  love  the  fellow,  I  feel  sorry  for  her,  poor  girl !" 

The  next  morning  Katie  was  summoned  into  the 
presence  of  her  father.  She  had  recovered  from  her 
sadness  of  the  preceding  evening,  and  had  just  been 
out  in  the  garden  looking  at  the  flower-beds,  and  pull 
ing  a  weed  here  and  there,  and  singing,  like  a  lark,  that 
cheering  song,  "The  world  is  full  of  beauty,  when 
the  heart  is  full  of  love."  After  the  experience 
of  the  evening  before,  the  effect  of  such  a  sum 
mons  was  to  hush  the  song  instantly,  and  set  her 
heart  into  a  flutter.  With  a  feeling  of  trepidation  she 
entered  the  parlor,  where  her  father  and  mother  were 
waiting  for  her.  How  gloomy  the  room  seemed  !  The 
bright  sunlight  was  barred  out  by  the  blinds.  A 
shadow  fell  upon  her  soul.  Still  her  father  seemed  un 
usually  kind.  There  was  a  marked  gravity  in  his  de 
portment,  which  indicated  that  the  subject  on  which  he 
was  about  to  speak  was  not  of  trivial  importance. 

"Katie,"  said  the  father,  in  calm,  earnest  tones, 
"I  believe  you  rode  in  from  the  woods  last  evening 
with  Mr.  Manning." 

She  felt  the  blood  mount  to  her  face.  Then  it  re 
ceded,  and  her  face  grew  pale.  After  a  moment  she 
looked  him  unblushingly  in  the  face,  for  she  was  con 
scious  she  had  done  no  wrong,  and  answered  simply: 

"Yes,  sir.1' 

"  Do  you  know  the  character  of  the  young  man  you 
were  riding  with  ?  " 


176  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"I  do  not,  particularly,"  she  said.  "You  have  per 
mitted  him  to  visit  the  family,  and  I  suppose  it  must 
be  good.  He  has  been  a  perfect  gentleman  in  my 
presence." 

"But  suppose  he  is  not  a  gentleman,  Katie — sup 
pose  he  is  a  suspicious  character — you  would  not  be 
willing  to  keep  company  with  him  then,  would  you  ?  " 

"I  do  n't  think  that  is  a  supposable  case,  father," 
she  answered,  looking  down  at  hei  hands  and  playing 
nervously  with  the  strings  of.  her  hat.  Her  face  wore 
a  very  determined  expression.  It  was  manifest  she 
had  made  up  her  mind  not  to  be  convinced  by  anything 
less  than  mathematical  demonstration. 

"  Well,  it  is  barely  possible,  at  any  rate,"  said  her 
father.  "What  I  want  to  know  is  your  attitude  to 
ward  Mr.  Manning,  in  case  it  should  be  proved  beyond 
doubt  that  he  is  a  bad  character." 

"  Is  it  necessary  to  answer  that  question,  father,  be 
fore  proof  is  made?  I  think  Mr.  Manning  is  a  noble 
young  man.  I  haven't  seen  any  evidence  to  the  con 
trary.  And  why  should  I  speculate  concerning  what  I 
would  do  if  a  certain  thing  was  true,  which  is  n't  true 
at  all?" 

"Katie,"  said  her  father,  ignoring  her  questions  en 
tirely,    "you  know  that  I  love  you,  and  would  not  say 
or  do  anything  to  hurt  your  feelings.     I  hope  you  will 
hear  me  as  a  young  lady  should  hear  her  father,  and  that 
you  will  heed  my  admonition  concerning  your  relations 
to  William  Manning.      Prior  to  last  evening  I  had  no 
special  objection  to  him.     Now  I  have.     I  am  now  sat 
isfied  that  he  is  n't  proper  company  for  you,  my  daugh 
ter.     You  remember  the  time  I   asked  him  what  part 
of  New  York  he  was  from, -and  you  remember  his  an 
swer  ?     I  have  no  doubt  you  do.     His  origin  and  char 
acter  are  involved  in  obscurity,  unless  he  has  confided 
more  to  you  than  he  has  to   others.     Katie,    do  you 
know  where  Mr.  Manning  came  from  when  he  located 
at  Wellington?  " 

She  did  not  know,  and  therefore  did  not  answer. 


LOVE'S    THORNY    PATHWAY.  1/7 

She  pulled  at  her  hat  strings  a  little  more  vigorously 
than  ever,  as  much  as  to  say:  "It  makes  very  little 
difference  to  me  where  he  came  from.  I  won't  believe 
anything  bad  about  him  till  it  is  proved  three  times 
over." 

Mr.  Anderson  pretended  to  take  no  notice  of  her 
silence.  He  asked  again  : 

"  Are  his  father  and  mother  living?  If  so,  where 
do  they  live?  Has  he  a  sister,  or  brother?  If  so, 
what  are  their  names  ?  " 

Still  Katie  was  silent,  and  wisely  so ;  for  where  a 
satisfactory  answer  can  not  be  given,  silence  is  the  best 
of  all  answers. 

"He  has  been  here  several  years,  and  no  one 
knows  where  he  came  from,  or  who  he  is.  A  strange 
situation  for  an  honest  man,  truly !  "  The  father 
looked  at  the  daughter  very  earnestly,  wondering  what 
effect  these  questions  and  suggestions  had  produced 
upon  her.  Alas !  he  could  not  read  her  thoughts. 
The  telltale  blush  which  followed  his  first  words  was 
gone,  and  her  face  was  now  as  barren  of  any  indication 
of  feeling  as  a  marble  statue.  Her  eyes  were  still  cast 
down  towards  her  lap,  and  she  was  still  pulling  away 
vigorously  at  her  hat  strings.  But  away  down  be 
neath  this  impassable  exterior,  a  loyal,  loving  heart 
was  beating  with  unusual  energy ;  and  with  every  heart- 
pulsation  this  loyal,  loving  girl  was  saying  over  to  her 
self  those  words  of  the  divine  Jesus,  which  have  never 
failed,  and  never  can:  "  By  their  fruits  shall  ye  know 
them."  With  an  intuition  overleaping  all  logic,  or 
which  was  rather  the  swift  and  unconscious  conclusion 
of  logic,  she  saw  in  her  lover  —  in  spite  of  every  hint 
and  suggestion  to  the  contrary  —  a  pure  and  noble 
young  man,  who  would  be  able  at  last  to  give  a  satis 
factory  solution  of  all  these  seeming  mysteries.  Such 
had  been  his  character  at  Wellington,  and  grapes  are 
not  gathered  of  thorns,  nor  figs  of  thistles. 

Now  there  was  a  painful  lull  in  the  conversation. 
Mr.  Anderson  interpreted  Katie's  silence  as  submission 


178  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

to  his  will,  and  thereupon  began  to  pity  the  poor  girl. 
But  he  felt  like  a  surgeon  whose  duty  requires  him  to 
amputate  a  limb — though  the  act  may  give  immediate 
pain,  it  will  be  the  occasion  of  ultimate  rejoicing.  He 
was  glad  to  find  his  daughter  so  calm  and  meek,  and 
decided  at  once  that  his  wife  had  been  mistaken,  and 
that  Katie  was  by  no  means  infatuated  with  the  obnox 
ious  attorney.  He  congratulated  himself  upon  the 
bold  stroke  by  which  he  had  put  an  end  to  a  foolish 
passion,  which  was  but  in  its  incipiency,  and  which, 
under  existing  circumstances,  could  not  be  tolerated. 
He  took  one  of  his  daughter's  hands  between  both  of 
his,  and  said,  tenderly : 

"  If  you  like  Manning,  Katie,  I  am  sorry  for  you — 
sincerely  sorry.  Should  these  mysteries  be  cleared  up 
satisfactorily,  I  would  gladly  withdraw  my  objections 
to  his  keeping  company  with  you.  But  until  that  is  done, 
he  can  not  come  to  see  you,  and  no  attachment  can  be 
suffered  to  arise  between  you.  I  have  positive  proof, 
which  your  mother  has  seen,  that  he  is  living  here  un 
der  an  assumed  name.  That  means  something  wrong. 
Just  think  of  it — an  honest  man  forced  to  smother  him 
self  under  a  false  name!  That  will  never  do.  Men 
don't  undertake  to  cover  themselves  up  under  false 
names  unless  there  is  something  that  needs  to  be  con 
cealed.  Your  father  and  mother  desire  your  good.  We 
want  to  see  you  happy.  You  are  too  young  to  see 
these  matters  in  their  true  light ;  and  I  hope  you  will 
obey  us,  and  we  shall  have  no  further  occasion  to  refer 
to  this  painful  affair." 

Satisfied  that  this  neat  little  speech,  delivered  while 
holding  his  daughter's  hand  affectionately  in  his,  was  the 
coup  de  grace  of  this  incipient  love- affair,  and  that  Katie 
would  think  no  more  of  Manning  except  with  coldness 
and  disdain,  Henry  Anderson  left  the  room.  Katie 
sat  still,  looking  down  and  fingering  her  hat-strings. 
The  pallor  of  her  cheeks  was  highly  becoming  at  this 
particular  moment,  as  was  also  the  firm  pressure  of  her 
sweet  lips  upon  each  other.  Yes,  Henry  Anderson, 


LOVE'S    THORNY    PATHWAY.  179 

with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  and  the  "presto"  of  the  ma 
gician,  had  settled  this  insignificant  love  affair  forever 
— had  absolutely  blotted  it  out — had  made  it  to  be  as 
if  it  had  not  been. 

Mrs.  Anderson  lingered  after  her  lord  had  retired. 
She  looked  at  Katie  with  an  expression  of  the  tenderest 
love  and  pity.  But  Katie  did  not  look  up  or  see  the 
mother-love  beaming  softly  upon  her.  Mrs.  Anderson 
had  seen  more  than  poor,  dull,  stupid  Henry  Anderson 
had  seen.  She  had  seen  the  blush  and  the  pallor  and 
the  downcast  eyes.  She  had  seen  the  nervous  fingering 
with  the  hat-strings.  She  had  seen  the  heaving  of  the 
poor  girl's  bosom  as  she  vainly  strove  to  suppress  every 
indication  of  feeling.  She  had  detected  that  peculiar 
tremor  of  voice,  when  Katie  spoke,  that  indicated 
strong  emotion.  She  had  observed  the  firm  closing  of 
the  lips,  and  the  skill  with  which  Katie  had  parried  her 
father's  questions,  and  avoided  making  any  pledge  of 
disloyalty  to  William  Manning.  Her  quick  perception 
told  her  the  whole  story ;  and  as  her  husband  left  the 
room,  exulting  over  his  easy  victory,  she  remained  be 
hind,  knowing  full  well  that  her  daughter  was  wholly 
unconquered. 

And  then,  when  her  husband's  eye  was  not  there  to 
look  on  with  disapproval,  she  crossed  the  room,  passed 
her  arm  around  Katie's  waist,  and  kissed  her  fair  fore 
head  so  tenderly,  so  sympathetically,  that  her  dear 
child's  outward  stoicism  gave  way,  and  she  flung  her 
arms  around  her  mother's  neck,  and  sobbed  convul 
sively  :  "  O  mother !  mother !  I  do  love  him  so  much  !  " 
Ah,  yes,  the  bruised  heart  knew  its  friend ;  and  the 
kiss  of  a  compassionate  mother  had  drawn  forth  the 
confession  which  the  father,  with  his  questions  and  au 
thority,  had  not  been  able  to  compel.  Mrs.  Anderson 
kissed  her  daughter  again  and  again,  and  then  left  her 
to  her  own  reflections. 

Katie  found  it  impossible  to  take  offense  at  her 
father's  words.  They  were  certainly  kind  and  con 
siderate.  The  interdiction  of  her  intercourse  with  Will- 


l8O  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

iam  Manning  would  expire  by  its  very  terms,  when  he 
should  be  able  to  explain  the  mystery  of  which  her 
father  had  spoken.  It  was  strange,  she  was  forced  to 
admit,  that  a  young  man  of  such  an  open,  generous 
nature,  so  outspoken  in  favor  of  what  was  right,  and 
uncompromising  in  his  enmity  against  what  was  wrong, 
should  put  himself  into  the  unenviable  position  of  living 
under  an  assumed  name.  She  did  not  for  a  moment 
doubt  the  truth  of  her  father's  statement  that  such  was 
the  fact,  and  that  he  had  the  evidence  to  substantiate 
his  word.  She  took  issue,  not  with  the  fact,  but  with 
the  conclusion  sought  to  be  drawn  therefrom  against 
William  Manning's  character,  and  said  to  herself  that 
though  all  the  world  should  affirm  the  fact,  she  would 
not  accept  the  conclusion.  She  said  to  herself  that 
though  her  father  should  forbid  Mr.  Manning  to  see 
her  at  her  home,  she  would  be  true  to  her  lover,  and 
live  in  hope  of  a  brighter  day  by  and  by.  She  did  not 
give  up,  or  rush  to  her  room  and  fling  herself  upon  the 
bed  in  the  wildness  of  dispair,  or  go  about  the  tasks  of 
the  day  with  a  melancholy  or  suicidal  air.  On  the  con 
trary,  she  seemed  to  "put  a  cheerful  courage  on,"  and 
to  show  the  effect  of  the  morning's  interview  only  by 
an  unusual  display  of  energy  at  her  studies  and  in  the 
class-room. 

Thus  she  kept  busily  employed  all  the  day.  No 
further  reference  to  Mr.  Manning  was  made  in  her 
presence  by  either  of  her  parents.  Her  father,  on  his 
part,  was  in  one  of  his  penitential  moods,  and  was  ex 
ceedingly  attentive  to  the  wants  of  his  family.  Only 
the  night  before  he  had  promised  his  faithful  wife  that 
he  would  never  drink  another  drop  of  liquor,  and  un 
der  the  first  influence  of  this  good  resolution  he  was 
now  seeking  to  make  amends  for  past  transgressions. 
The  day  passed  away  without  any  further  event  of  im 
portance  to  his  family.  After  supper,  Katie  told  her 
mother  of  her  promise  to  visit  Jennie  Ingleside  during 
the  day.  "Go  now,  dear,"  said  the  mother,  "but 
don't  stay  late." 


LOVE'S   THORNY    PATHWAY.  1 8 1, 

As  she  left  the  room,  her  father  patted  her  play 
fully  on  the  cheek,  and  admonished  her  to  be  back  by 
nine  o'clock  at  the  latest.  Let  us  now  anticipate  Miss 
Katie's  visit,  and  find  out  what  has  been  going  on  at 
the  Ingleside  mansion. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE    FIRST    MISUNDERSTANDING. 

William  Manning  rang  the  door-bell  at  Squire  In- 
gleside's  mansion  at  the  appointed  hour,  and  was  gra 
ciously  received  by  Miss  Jennie  Ingleside,  who  seemed 
to  be  the  officiating  genius  of  the  parlor,  as  her  mother 
was  of  the  dining-room  and  her  father  of  the  library. 
Soon  afterwards  Mrs.  Ingleside  came  into  the  parlor  with 
the  announcement  that  tea  was  ready.  The  Squire  was 
dragged  from  the  scene  of  his  meditations,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  the  expectant  quaternion  surrounded  the  table. 
Mrs.  Ingleside  seated  Jennie  and  her  guest  opposite  to 
each  other,  so  that  when  the  latter  happened  to  look 
up  from  his  engagement  with  fried  chicken,  he  might  be 
entertained  with  the  languishing  glances  of  this  sweet- 
looking  lass.  For  be  it  remembered  that  Jennie  was 
an  expert,  for  a  girl  of  seventeen,  in  the  manufacture 
and  disbursement  of  those  said  languishing  glances, 
and  found  a  great  deal  of  satisfaction  in  communicating 
little  electrical  shocks  with  her  sweet  blue  eyes  to  _her 
fascinated  vis-a-vis  on  such  occasions  as  this.  Some 
times  she  was  not  in  earnest — "only  fooling" — as  she 
herself  admitted  ;  but  this  time  she  was  in  earnest,  and 
vowed  to  herself  that  she  would  captivate  Mr.  Man 
ning  if  she  could,  for  he  was  a  very  good  "catch," 
and  she  was  seventeen  at  the  last  vernal  equinox,  and 
couldn't  possibly  consent  to  pass  her  nineteenth  birth 
day  without  a  husband. 

William  looked  across  the  table  at  Jennie  while  the 
Squire  was  engaged  in  loading  his  plate  with  delicacies, 
and  he  said  to  himself  that  the  young  miss  was  very 
pretty  indeed.  Yes,  pretty,  friend  critic — that  was 
the  word  he  used.  He  did  not  think  she  was  lovely  or 
beautiful,  but  simply  pretty  ;  and  he  could  not  have  told 
why  the  last  word  was  used  as  expressive  of  the  young 


THE    FIRST    MISUNDERSTANDING.  183 

lady's  charms,  only  that  it  naturally  occurred  to  him 
in  that  connection,  and  seemed  highly  appropriate  as 
a  designation  of  this  saucy,  open-hearted,  frank-spoken 
damsel. 

A  total  inability  for  dissimulation  was  Jennie's  re 
deeming  quality — except,  of  course,  when  a  perverse 
desire  to  make  some  awkward  swain  sigh  and  groan  with 
love  of  her  own  peerless  self  impelled  her  to  look  love 
with  her  eyes,  when  there  was  no  love  in  her  heart. 
With  this  trivial  exception,  Jennie  was  the  frankest  girl 
that  ever  lived.  While  "many  of  her  associates,  when 
ever  the  theme  of  matrimony  came  under  discussion, 
would  blush  and  simper  and  declare  that  they  had 
never  thought  of  such  a  thing,  and  intended  never  to 
marry,  Jennie  avowed,  without  a  blush,  and  as  if  it 
were  the  most  natural  thing  possible,  that  the  main  ob 
ject  of  her  life  just  now  was  to  find  a  lover,  and  get 
married  at  an  early  day,  and  that  then  she  would  settle 
down  and  concentrate  her  mind  upon  something  be 
sides  matrimony.  Whereupon  the  other  girls  would 
say  that  they  would  be  ashamed  to  talk  in  that  way, 
they  would,  and  then  would  all  rush  to  the  window 
pell-mell,  and  peep  out  from  behind  the  curtains  when 
Jennie  cried  out  that  Tom  Safthed  was  passing  by  on 
his  richly  caparisoned  horse.  They  were  anxious  to  see 
the  caparison,  or  the  horse,  and  cared  not  a  bauble  for 
dashing  Tom. 

So  if  any  of  her  friends  had  called  to  see  her  at  this 
busy  moment,  Jennie  would  have  ceased  her  mincing 
operations  on  the  wing  she  was  seeking  to  eat  without 
the  vulgar  act  of  taking  it  up  with  her  fingers,  would 
have  laid  her  knife  a.nd  fork  and  napkin  down  with  nice 
precision,  and,  with  a  ravishing  smile  and  bird-like 
"excuse  me,  please,"  all  directed  to  Mr.  Manning, 
would  have  tripped  gaily  to  the  door,  and  in  all  proba 
bility  informed  her  friend,  if  a  female,  that  she  was  en 
gaged  in  the  delightful  process  of  trying  to  "catch" 
Mr.  Manning,  and  did  hope  she  would  succeed.  But 
Jennie  shall  have  justice  in  this  chronicle.  Let  it  be 


1 84  A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

set  down  as  a  fact  that  if  she  had  known  anything  of 
the  engagement  between  Mr.  Manning  and  Katie,  she 
would  have  turned  her  optical  batteries  in  some  other 
direction,  and  sought  not  for  an  instant  to  interfere  with 
her  friend's  prospects  for  happiness. 

Yes,  William  Manning  thought  he  had  never  seen 
Jennie  look  one-half  as  pretty  as  she  did  this  evening 
while  engaged  in  the  manipulation  of  her  knife  and 
fork ;  and  then  he  began  to  reproach  himself  for  such  a 
traitorous  thought,  and  silently  declared  that  there  was 
but  one  lovely  girl  in  this  world,  and  that  she  was  not 
a  tenant  of  the  Ingleside  premises.  Having  now  satis 
fied  his  conscience  by  this  prodigious  compliment  to 
Katie,  he  concluded  to  make  the  most  of  his  present 
situation,  and  renewed  his  attack,  with  commendable 
zeal,  on  the  delicacies  spread  before  him,  forgetting 
for  a  moment  the  boarding-house  cuisine,  and  dreaming 
of  home  and  loved  ones. 

Meanwhile  the  Squire  freely  expressed  his  opinion 
on  every  subject  which  arose,  with  "words  of  learned 
length  and  thundering  sound,"  adroitly  reminding 
all  present  of  the  wonderful  distinction  he  had  en 
joyed  of  sitting  at  the  feet  of  the  late  Senator  as  Saul 
had  sat  at  the  feet  of  Ananias.  The  hour  passed  away 
pleasantly  enough,  and,  when  the  menu  was  exhausted, 
Jennie  escorted  Mr.  Manning  back  to  the  parlor.  Soon 
afterwards  the  Squire  thrust  his  head  into  the  room  and 
asked  to  be  excused  for  a  short  time,  as  he  had  an  im 
perative  engagement  at  that  hour  with  "a  man,"  and 
must  repair  immediately  to  his  office.  Mrs.  Ingleside 
wandered  away  into  a  distant  part  of  the  house,  and  left 
the  young  couple  to  find  such  entertainment  as  was  pos 
sible  in  each  other's  company. 

Perhaps  it  should  be  stated  chat  Miss  Jennie  Ingle 
side  bore  not  the  slightest  resemblance  to  the  late  dis 
tinguished  Senator,  but  was  rather  above  the  medium 
height,  slender  and  agile,  with  blue  eyes  and  golden 
hair  and  a  bright,  vivacious  manner.  If  William  Man 
ning  had  never  seen  Katie,  there  might  have  been  a 


THE    FIRST    MISUNDERSTANDING.  185 

fair  expectation  of  his  succumbing  to  this  combination 
of  charms,  reinforced  as  they  were  by  the  fact  that 
this  was  an  only  child,  and  her  father  was  regarded  as  a 
man  of  considerable  wealth. 

Mr.  Manning  sat  down  on  the  sofa,  locked  his 
hands  together,  and  remarked  that  it  had  been  a  very 
nice  day.  Jennie  answered  that  it  had.  After  a  short 
pause,  he  said  he  hoped  to-morrow  would  be  a  nice 
day.  She  said  she  hoped  so,  too.  At  this  point  he 
became  unpleasantly  conscious  of  the  size  of  his  hands, 
and  remembered  that  he  had  had  a  picture  taken  five 
years  before  with  his  hands  in  that  position,  and  that 
his — well,  never  mind  who — had  compared  his  hands  to 
the  paddles  of  a  crocodile.  He  unlocked  his  hands 
and  spread  them  on  his  knees,  palms  downward,  and 
said  that  some  of  the  farmers  wanted  more  rain,  but 
that  he  thought  there  had  been  rain  enough.  She  said 
she  hoped  it  wouldn't  rain  any  more  soon,  for  rain 
made  the  roads  muddy.  Thereupon  he  admitted  that 
rain  did  make  the  roads  muddy.  She  remarked  that 
her  poor  dear  grandpa  Ingleside  always  hated  muddy 
roads,  especially  if  he  had  any  "hauling"  to  do.  He 
affirmed  that  her  grandfather  was  evidently  a  man  of 
remarkable  judgment. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  my  grandfather's  picture?"  she 
asked  with  a  bewitching  smile.  "Oh,  he  was  the  dear 
est  old  man!"  Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  she 
arose  from  her  chair,  armed  herself  with  an  immense 
family  album,  and  sat  down  by  Mr.  Manning  on  the 
large,  old-fashioned  sofa. 

At  this  point  the  ominous  clang  of  the  door-bell  in 
terrupted  further  proceedings.  Jennie  heard  her  moth 
er's  step  in  the  hall,  and  thereupon  arose  to  adjust  the 
books  on  the  table  ;  and  then,  after  having  adjusted  the 
books  and  given  her  dress  two  or  three  little  shakes,  she 
sat  down  on  a  chair  a  short  distance  from  the  sofa.  In 
a  moment  Mrs.  Ingleside  ushered  Miss  Katie  Anderson 
into  the  parlor. 

O  dear !   what  a  dreadful  mistake !     Too  many,  un- 


1 86  A  SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

doubtedly,  for  all  concerned.  Miss  Jennie  had  scarcely 
made  a  beginning  with  her  album  ;  and  besides,  she  had 
two  more  in  reserve  to  draw  on  this  unoffending  youth, 
should  the  antediluvians  and  the  babies  of  the  first  give 
out  before  ten  o'clock.  In  case  she  should  be  pressed 
for  means  of  entertainment  for  her  visitor,  she  had  a 
moderate  pile  of  music  lying  at  a  convenient  place  on  the 
piano,  which  music  had  been  culled  and  arranged  during 
the  day  for  this  particular  emergency,  and  would  furnish 
diversion  for  the  period  of  two  hours,  if  necessary. 
She  could  not  say  that  she  thanked  Miss  Katie  Ander 
son  for  calling  at  this  time.  Why  did  n't  she  come  in 
the  afternoon  ?  The  spiteful  thing— she  must  have 
known  that  Mr.  Manning  was  here !  Indulging  these 
charitable  thoughts,  Jennie  kissed  Katie,  and  cooed  over 
her,  according  to  the  fashion  among  girls  of  seventeen. 

As  for  William  Manning,  he  had  long  ago  grown 
tired  of  this  visit.  Although  there  was  a  bright  girl  at 
his  side,  he  had  grown  weary  because  his  heart  was 
not  there.  In  the  midst  of  his  conversation  with  Jen 
nie,  the  sound  of  another  voice  was  in  his  soul,  and  his 
heart  was  going  out  in  longing  for  the  darling  girl,  so 
pure,  so  true,  so  lovely,  who  had  given  herself  to  him 
at  Mossy  Bank  only  the  day  before.  "When  and 
where  can  I  see  her  ?  when  and  where  can  I  see  her?" 
he  kept  asking  himself.  He  had  repeated  the  question 
over  and  over  again,  and  still  there  came  no  answer. 
And  now  here  she  was  ;  he  might  see  her  and  converse 
with  her ;  but  under  rather  embarrassing  circumstances. 
Would  she  not  misunderstand  the  situation  ?  Would 
she  not  accuse  him  of  disloyalty?  Would  she  not 
think  it  strange  that  he  should  spend  the  evening  at 
Squire  Ingleside's  instead  of  Henry  Anderson's  ?  If 
Jennie  would  only  leave,  and  let  him  explain  matters 
to  Katie !  But  Jennie  seemed  to  have  no  thought  of 
leaving. 

While*  there  was  one  too  many  for  William  Man 
ning  and  Jennie  Ingleside,  there  were  two  too  many  for 
Katie  Anderson.  She  wished  herself  in  her  own  little 


THE    FIRST    MISUNDERSTANDING.  187 

room  where  she  had  sat  and  cried  the  night  before. 
Her  heart  was  full  now,  and  she  wanted  to  be  alone. 
When  her  lover  was  being  assailed,  when  suspicion  was 
about  to  cloud  his  life,  she  could  bear  herself  up  and 
be  brave.  As  long  as  he  remained  faithful  to  her,  she 
could  trust  and  love  on,  regardless  of  the  thoughts  and 
feelings  of  others,  or  of  the  trials  and  disappointments 
along  the  course  of  their  love.  But  here  was  William 
Manning,  evidently  forgetful  of  her,  spending  the  even 
ing  happily  with  another.  Was  that  fidelity?  Ah! 
perhaps  her  father's  suspicions  were  true.  Perhaps 
there  was  something  wrong  about  Manning's  past  life. 
Had  he  so  soon  forgotten  that  precious  hour  at  Mossy 
Bank?  Then  her  pride  came  to  her  relief.  "  I  '11  not 
let  him  know  that  I  care,"  she  thought.  No,  no  ;  he 
should  find  her  utterly  indifferent,  perfectly  composed, 
and  should  never  enjoy  the  triumph  of  knowing  that  he 
had  wounded  her  so  deeply  with  his  base  treachery. 
So  she  laughed  and  chatted  gaily,  and  seemed  the  mer 
riest  of  the  three.  And  when,  at  last,  ,Squire  Ingle- 
side  came  home,  and  looked  into  the  parlor  to  see  how 
his  guest  was  enjoying  himself,  Katie  turned  her  back 
to  William  Manning,  and  entered  into  an  animated  con 
versation  with  the  old  gentleman. 

Squire  Ingleside's  mind  was  at  work  on  the  theme 
of  corruption  at  the  polls,  and  he  found  himself  unable 
to  descend  to  the  ordinary  chitchat  of  young  people's 
conversation. 

"The  perpetuity  of  our  free  institutions  depends  on 
the  purity  of  the  ballot-box,"  he  said.  "But  this  is 
an  age  ot  corruption — preeminently  an  age  of  corrup 
tion —  an  age  of  corruption  in  the  church,  out  of  the 
church,  in  the  community,  and  in  the  State.  The  par 
ties  are  in  the  hands  of  political  tricksters,  and  it  seems 
almost  impossible  to  secure  a  free  and  unembarrassed 
expression  of  the  popular  will  at  the  polls.  One  man, 
with  filthy  lucre,  controls  a  fellow-man,  and  thereby 
casts  two  votes.  Whether  such  a  diabolical  end  is 
accomplished  through  a  direct  purchase  of  votes  with 


1 88  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

money,  or  an  indirect  purchase  with  saloon  influence, 
the  result  is  the  same.  The  American  commonwealth 
trembles  on  its  foundation,  sirs,"  cried  the  Squire, 
waxing  warm ;  and  then,  comprehending  the  fact  that 
he  was  addressing  an  innocent  girl,  he  continued : 
"I  beg  pardon,  Miss  Katie,  I  sincerely  beg  your 
pardon ;  for  a  moment  I  thought  I  was  addressing 
a  convocation  of  my  fellow-citizens.  Nevertheless,  I 
repeat  it,  with  corruption  at  the  polls,  the  American 
commonwealth  trembles.  I  well  remember  the  remark 
ol  the  late  Senator  Douglas,  on  the  steps  leading  up  to 
the  old  capitol  building  at  Springfield.  Turning  to  me, 
and  laying  his  hand  upon  my  shoulder,  he  said  slowly 
and  impressively:  'The  American  commonwealth 
trembles,  Ingleside  !  It  does,  indeed,  tremble  ! '  " 

And  now  Katie  arose  to  go.  Mr.  Manning  offered 
to  accompany  her.  "Oh,  no,"  she  said,  with  a  cour 
teous  bow,  "  I  do  not  need  company." 

"Let  me  go,"  said  the  Squire,  imagining  that  the 
late  Senator  would  have  made  a  similar  proposition  un 
der  similar  circumstances. 

"No,  no,"  cried  Katie,  "I  shall  be  at  home, 
Squire,  before  you  c6uld  get  ready.  Sit  down  and  take 
your  ease  for  the  remainder  of  the  evening."  And  in 
a  moment  she  was  gone. 

William  Manning  felt  as  if  he  had  received  a  blow. 
Katie  had  misinterpreted  the  situation — he  was  sure  of 
that — and  was  either  offended  because  she  had  found 
him  in  the  Squire's  parlor  with  the  Squire's  daughter,  or 
had  been  influenced  against  him  by  her  father,  and  in 
obedience  to  him  was  now  endeavoring  to  avoid  his 
company.  He  heard  her  go  rapidly  down  the  walk. 
He  heard  the  gate  clang  to  after  her.  He  lost  control 
of  himself.  He  forgot  all  about  the  proprieties  of  life 
and  the  conduct  becoming  a  guest.  In  a  few  minutes 
the  golden  opportunity  would  be  gone.  He  must  see 
her  —  explain  —  find  out  what  her  father  had  said 
and  done,  and  how  his  darling  now  regarded  him. 
With  unseemly  haste  he  excused  himself,  hurriedly 


THE   FIRST    MISUNDERSTANDING.  189 

thanking  the  Inglesides  for  their  hospitality,  and  hardly 
hearing  their  pressing  invitations  to  call  again,  and  then 
hastened  along  the  sidewalk  in  the  hope  of  overtaking 
Katie. 

Now,  by  a  proper  effort,  Katie  could  have  kept  out 
of  Manning's  way,  and  returned  home  with  a  con 
sciousness  that  she  had  obeyed  the  spirit,  as  well  as 
the  letter,  of  her  father's  command.  But  inasmuch  as 
she  did  not  put  forth  that  effort,  Manning  was  soon  at 
her  side. 

"Katie,"  he  said,  " won't  you  take  my  arm?" 

She  answered,  with  some  constraint,  that  she  was 
able  to  walk  very  well  without  assistance.  She  was  de 
termined  to  maintain  the  role  of  indifference  she  had  as 
sumed  at  the  Squire's.  No,  no,  he  should  never  know 
s/ie  cared  ;  and  besides,  she  did  not  feel  jealous  of  Jennie 
Ingleside — not  at  all;  why  should  she  feel  jealous  of 
Jennie  ? 

"Why  are  you  angry,  Katie?"  asked  Manning, 
tenderly. 

"Oh,  I  am  not  angry,  at  all !  "  she  answered,  care 
lessly.  "What  should  I  be  angry  about?"  Poor 
Katie !  She  had  forgotten  the  moral  of  the  old  story 
about  the  cherry  tree  and  the  hatchet. 

Strange  to  say,  her  answer  did  not  have  a  soothing 
effect  upon  her  lover.  He  would  have  preferred  an 
unqualified  admission  that  she  was  angry.  "  She  can  't 
care  very  much  for  me,  or  she  would  feel  a  little  hurt 
at  finding  me  at  the  Squire's."  Thus  he  commented 
on  her  seeming  indifference. 

They  walked  slowly  along.  They  came  to  the  gate 
of  Henry  Anderson's  premises.  Neither  of  them  ap 
peared  to  notice  that  fact.  They  went  on  past  the 
house.  'There  was  a  little  ice  between  them  now,  and 
the  question  was,  who  would  break  it  ?  or  would  they 
stubbornly  suffer  it  to  become  thicker  ?  At  first  Will 
iam  Manning  thought  that  if  she  did  not  want  to  take 
his  arm  or  hear  his  explanation,  she  could  have  her 
own  way,  and  he  would  not  force  his  attentions  upon 


A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARV. 

her.  Then  the  question  occurred  to  him — have  I 
offered  her  any  explanation  ?  Then  the  thought  flushed 
his  face — I  love  her  too  dearly  to  quarrel  with  her. 

"Katie,"  he  pleaded,  "we  can 't  afford  to  quarrel 
on  the  very  next  day  after  our  engagement.  If  we 
begin  by  having  trouble  so  soon,  what  will  become  of 
us?  I  love  you  too  much  to  quarrel  with  you,  any 
way.  I  want  to  tell  you  how  I  came  to  be  at  the 
Squire's,  and  to  have  a  talk  with  you  about  other  mat' 
ters.  So  come,  take  my  arm,  dearest,  and  let  us  go 
toward  the  lovers'  retreat." 

But  Katie  was  not  yet  prepared  to  yield,  and  for 
that  reason  did  not  take  his  arm  ;  and  as  for  going  to 
the  lovers'  retreat,  she  said,  that  \vas  a  place  for  lovers, 
with  marked  emphasis  on  the  word,  and  it  was  now  too 
late  to  go  there,  even  if  there  were  no  other  obstacles 
in  the  way. 

Still  she  did  not  turn  back.  They  went  a  few  paces 
farther,  and  then  William  Manning  took  her  hand,  and 
drew  it  through  his  arm ;  nor  did  he  release  the  hand, 
though  she  made  a  slight  effort  to  draw  it  away.  She 
was  too  weak  a  child  to  contend  against  a  great,  strong 
man,  and  for  that  reason,  probably,  ceased  her  resist 
ance  and  suffered  him  to  retain  her  hand.  And  now 
her  fingers  were  trembling  just  a  little,  and  if  there 
had  been  light  enough  for  Mr.  Manning  to  see,  he 
would  have  noticed  a  slight  quivering  of  her  lips.  Ah  ! 
Katie,  take  away  that  hand  quickly,  or  your  lover  will 
conquer,  and  the  ice  will  be  totally  dissolved  ! 

Just  then,  inasmuch  as  there  was  no  sound  of 
wagon,  footstep  or  voice  near  them,  and  they  were  un 
der  the  friendly  cover  of  a  large  tree,  William  Manning 
bent  over,  and,  before  she  could  realize  what  he  was 
going  to  do,  kissed  her,  and  told  her  that  he  loved  her, 
and  her  only.  That  was  too  much  for  Katie.  The 
tears  came  into  her  eyes,  and  she  resisted  her  lover  no 
longer. 

"Katie,"  he  said,  "I  want  to  tell  you  what  I  was 
doing  at  the  Squire's."  Then  he  explained  how  he 


THE    FIRST    MISUNDERSTANDING.  IQI, 

happened  to  be  there,  and  especially  how  he  came  to 
be  spending  the  evening  with  Jennie  in  the  Squire's 
elegant  parlor.  "  I  wasn't  there  of  my  own  choice.  I 
was  thinking  of  you,  darling,  all  the  time,  and  wonder 
ing  when  I  would  get  to  see  you  again.  And  when 
you  came  in,  and  treated  me  so  indifferently,  I  could  n't 
understand  it.  What  is  the  matter,  Katie?  Don't 
you  love  me  as  much  as  you  did  yesterday?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered  softly.  "But  I  thought  you 
didn't  care  for  me  any  more,  and  I  was  n't  going  to  let 
you  know  I  cared."  Here  she  hesitated  a  moment. 
Then  she  said  timidly :  ' '  Father  thinks  you  are  a 
wicked  man."  She  paused  a  moment,  and  added 
hastily,  for  the  reassurance  of  her  lover:  "  But  I  do  n't 
believe  a  word  of  it. " 

Mr.  Manning  thought  rapidly.  He  determined  to 
speak  cautiously,  and  find  out  how  much  and  what 
Mr.  Anderson  had  told  his  daughter. 

"  What  did  your  father  tell  you  ?  " 

"  He  said  that — that — your  real  name  is  not  Man 
ning — that  you  are  here  under  an  assumed  name.  He 
asked  me  if  I  knew  anything  about  your  father  or 
mother,  or  whether  you  had  a  sister  or  brother,  and 
he  wanted  to  know  where  you  came  from." 

"Was  that  all  he  said?" 

"He  said  he  had  proof  that  your  name  was  not 
Manning,  and  that  mother  had  seen  the  proof." 

"Was  that  all?" 

"Only  that  he  told  me  that  I  must  not  keep  com 
pany  with  you  till  this  mystery  should  be  satisfactorily 
cleared  up." 

"Did  he  say  how  he  heard  this  charge  against  me, 
or  in  what  his  proof  consisted  ?  " 

"No,  he  did  not." 

"And  he  didn't  tell  you  how  he  found  it  out?" 

"That  was  all  he  said — just  what  I  have  told  you. 
He  didn't  seem  angry,  and  told  me  if  this  mystery  of 
your  past  life  should  be  cleared  up,  you  might  come  to 
see  me." 


A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"And  you  believed  what  he  said?"  asked  Manning. 

"I  didn't  believe  anything  bad  about  you, "  she 
answered  evasively. 

"But  you  believed  I  was  living  here  under  an  as 
sumed  name?" 

"I  do  n't  know,  "she  said  hesitatingly.  "Father 
always  aims  to  tell  me  the  truth ;  and  you  know  I 
haven't  heard  what  you  have  to  say  in  reply  to  the 
charge. ' ' 

"Suppose  your  father  is  right,  Katie,"  he  said 
earnestly,  "would  you  cease  to  love  me?  " 

"If  you  would  tell  me  all  about  it,  1  would  believe 
and  trust  you." 

"But  suppose  I  can 't  tell  you  now — suppose  I 
should  admit  that  William  Manning  is  not  my  real 
name,  but  should  tell  you  that  I  have  lived  a  true  and 
honest  life,  and  that  this  mystery  can  be  explained 
after  awhile  consistently  with  honor  and  good  character 
— would  you  love  me  still  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer,  but  he  thought  he  felt  a  slight 
pressure  of  his  hand,  and  was  encouraged  to  go  on. 

"  Let  me  not  deny  the  truth,  Katie, "he  continued. 
"I  can  not  deceive  you.  I  don't  want  to  begin  our 
courtship  by  concealing  from  you  the  truth  concerning 
myself.  I  can  not  afford  to  do  that.  I  fear  that  I  have 
already  done  wrong  in  making  love  to  you  without  first 
telling  you  frankly  that  Manning  is  not  my  name.  But 
I'll  set  matters  right  now,  as  far  as  I  can  by  telling 
you  that  the  charge  is  true.  But,  Katie,  I  can  not  ex 
plain — I  can  not  tell  you  my  real  name  now ;  some  day 
I  can,  but  not  now.  Before  we  are  married  all  shall  be 
made  plain.  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  trust  me — to  be 
lieve  and  trust  me.  When  the  truth  comes  out,  you 
will  find  that  there  is  nothing  against  my  character. 
But  I  can  not  unravel  this  mystery  just  now,  even  to 
you,  darling.  Katie,  will  you  believe  and  trust  me? 
You  haven't  answered  that  question." 

They  had  reached  the  lovers'  retreat  at  last ;  but 
Manning  thought  it  imprudent  to  stop  there  at  that 


THE    FIRST    MISUNDERSTANDING.  193 

hour  in  the  evening,  even  with  his  beloved.  They 
turned  and  walked  back  slowly  towards  Katie's  home. 

"Katie,"  he  said  passionately,  "can't  you  believe 
me?  can  't  you  trust  me?  Oh,  if  you  do  love  me  as 
you  said  you  did  yesterday,  you  will  surely  trust  me 
till  the  time  comes  when  I  can  explain  !  Why  do  you 
refuse  to  answer?  Speak,  darling!  Tell  me  you  will 
love  me  and  be  true  to  me  still!  " 

"I  can  't  believe  you  are  a  bad  man,"  she  said. 

He  knew  she  was  deeply  agitated.  He  could  feel 
the  trembling  of  her  arm  as  she  leaned  more  heavily  on 
him  for  support.  Then  she  exclaimed  passionately  and 
tremulously : 

"Oh,  if  you  do  deceive  me,  you 'will  wreck  my 
whole  life." 

' '  Then  you  do  trust  me  ?  " 

"Yes,"  she  whispered. 

"And  will  be  true  to  me?" 

"Yes,"  she  whispered  very  softly. 

"And  will  never  love  another?" 

"Never,"  she  said  with  emphasis,  which  told  him 
that  her  love  was  her  life. 

' '  Let  God  be  your  avenger  if  ever  I  betray  your 
trust !  "  With  this  terrible  oath  he  confirmed  his  words. 
"Nor  must  I  bring  trouble  upon  you,"  he  added,  press 
ing  her  hand.  -  "Your  father  has  forbidden  you  to  keep 
company  with  me.  This  will  be  a  great  trial  for  me ; 
but  to  violate  his  command  would  be  to  make  your  life 
at  home  unendurable.  I  hope  to  see  you  sometimes ; 
and  when  I  can  not  see  you,  I  will  write,  and  try  to  find 
some  way  to  send  you  my  notes.  Won't  you  write  to 
me,  darling?  "  She  promised  she  would,  and  Manning 
tried  to  content  himself  with  that  assurance. 

At  her  father's  gate  they  separated,  with  mutual 
promises  of  love  and  confidence.  "It  is  not  as  bad  as 
it  might  have  been,"  thought  Manning  as  he  walked 
away. 

"I'll  love  and  trust  him,  no  matter  what  hap 
pens,"  she  thought,  as  she  turned  to  go  into  the  house. 


194  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

As  she  entered  the  room  where  her  father  and 
mother  were  sitting,  her  face  was  radiant  with  happi 
ness.  She  rejoiced  to  find  her  father  and  mother  hap 
py  as  of  old.  Mr.  Anderson  had  been  reading  aloud ; 
but  the  book  was  now  lying  on  his  lap,  while  James 
was  engaged  in  giving  the  particulars  of  Lyman  Saw- 
theaire's  fall  from  the  bridge. 

"  Did  you  and  Jennie  get  through  with  your  con 
fidences  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Anderson  kindly.  Katie  said  yes, 
and  then  kissed  her  father  as  a  dutiful  daughter  should. 
"She  has  forgotten  Manning  already,  and  is  as  happy 
as  a  clam, "  thought  Mr.  Anderson.  His  wife  looked 
up  from  her  kqitting,  and  when  she  saw  the  love-light 
sparkling  in  Katie's  eye,  a  faint  suspicion  flitted  through 
her  mind.  It  takes  the  mother  to  read  the  daughter's 
face. 

And  so  there  w  as  happiness  that  evening  in  the 
Anderson  household,  as  there  had  been  during  the  good 
old. days  at  the  farm. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

HOLYTERROR. 

One  bright  morning,  about  two  weeks  after  the 
events  recorded  in  the  last  chapter,  Squire  Ingleside  and 
William  Manning  left  Wellington  for  Holyterror. 

"  My  judgment  is  decidedly  against  this  trip,"  said 
Manning.  "  Holyterror  is  in  the  hands  of  the  saloons, 
and  my  views  on  the  saloon  question  are  too  well  known 
for  me  to  make  any  headway  there  with  the  drinking 
classes.  I  'm  spotted  by  these  men,  as  the  saying  is." 

"We  must  beard  the  lion  in  his  den,"  said  the 
Squire.  "  Now  I  am  a  well  known  temperance  man — 
no  fanatic,  you  know,  but  a  real,  solid,  downright  tem 
perance  man — and  yet,  notwithstanding  all  this,  when 
I  was  a  candidate  for  the  Legislature,  I  received  the 
solid  support  of  that  township.  Fact !  How  did  I 
get  it  ?  Easily  enough  ;  simply  by  getting  the  saloon 
men  and  the  temperance  men  all  on  my  side.  That 's 
the  point  Catch  both  sides,  and  you  go  through 
like  water  in  a  mill-race.  And  to  this  end,  Manning, 
to  the  end  that  you  may  catch  both  sides,  most  es 
teemed  sir,  let  me  implore  you  not  to  make  a  fool  of 
yourself.  Do  anything  else,  but  please  don't  make  a 
fool  of  yourself.  Remember  that  a  saloon-keeper's 
vote  counts  for  as  much  as  a  preacher's.  In  order 
to  get  the  votes  of  both  sides  we  must  use  discre 
tion.  I  tell  you  we  must  conciliate  these  fellows. 
There  are  more  tea  drinkers  than  water  drinkers  in  this 
county,  and  if  you  depend  solely  on  the  total  absti 
nence  fellows,  you  will  find  yourself  holding  the  sack 
when  the  convention  comes  on.  Saloon-keepers  go  for 
their  friends — I  do  n't  blame  them — natural  enough — 
just  what  I  am  doing  at  this  particular  time  myself — 
and  they  certainly  have  the  balance  of  power  in  our 
conventions.  Now  permit  me  to  make  a  gentle  sug- 

195 


196  A    SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

gestion.  You  nave  heard  me  say  that  I  am  a  temper 
ance  man  myself.  So  I  am.  Yet,  like  the  late  Senator, 
I  can  take  a  drink  occasionally  if  circumstances  seem 
to  require  it.  You  must  follow  me.  Do  you  hear?" 

"Yes,  I  hear,"  said  Manning,  laughing,  "but  it 
depends  on  where  you  go,  whether  I  '11  heed." 

"Now,  Manning,  haven't  I  already  requested  you 
not  to  be  a  fool  ?  What  more  shall  I  do?"  The  Squire 
cracked  Jjis  whip  savagely  as  a  safety-valve  for  part  of 
his  accumulating  indignation.  "We'll  have  to  see 
these  saloon  men,  and  we  may  have  to  go  into  their 
places  of — ah-h-h — business,  to  do  it." 

"  That  I  will  not  do,  Squire,"  interposed  Manning. 

"That  you  '11  have  to  do,  Manning, "  said  the  Squire. 
' '  There  is  no  escape  for  you.  You  are  under  my  care, 
and  will  have  to  follow  me.  I  '11  take  the  responsibility 
and  suffer  the  penalty  here  and  hereafter.  There 
is  n't  any  use  in  putting  on  airs,  and  pretending  to  be 
so  very  sanctimonious.  You  know  very  well  that  you 
are  no  preacher.  You  belong  to  the  church  ?  All 
right,  all  right.  But  what  has  that  got  to  do  with  it  ? 
Does  n't  Paul  tell  Timothy  to  take  a  little  wine  for  his 
stomach's  sake?  That  fits  your  case  exactly.  If  you 
do  n't  get  this  office,  your  stomach  will  suffer  for  neces 
sary  aliment,  I  am  afraid.  Put  it  on  the  ground  of 
your  stomach's  sake,  then.  If  necessary,  in  order  to 
set  the  matter  straight  with  the  teetotalers,  you  can  very 
easily  manufacture  a  little  stomach's  ache  for  the  occa 
sion,  and  then  you  are  all  right.  Let  me  tell  you — and 
I  've  lived  longer  than  you  have — I  'm  older  than  you 
are,  Manning  "  (here  the  Squire  looked  impressively  at 
his  companion),  "let  me  tell  you,  that  this  earth  isn't 
the  place  for  white  robes  and  golden  viols  and  palms  of 
victory,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  I  hope  to  wave  a 
palm  and  thrum  a  viol  some  day  myself!  I  do  indeed. 
I  hope  to  spend  eternity  with  the  late  Senator  and  the 
martyred  President.  But,  see  here!  These  things 
won't  do  in  politics — " 

"  But  I  must  be  true  to  my  principles — I  can  not  be 


MOLYTERROR.  107 

a  hypocrite,'*  said   Manning,  interrupting  the  Squire's 
harangue. 

"  A  hypocrite  !  a  hypocrite  !  "  exclaimed  the  Squire 
with  great  dignity  and  severity.  "  What  do  you  mean  ? 
Who  is  a  hypocrite,  I  'd  like  to  know  ?  Who,  but 
Sawtheaire  ?  There  is  no  reason  in  the  world  why  you 
should  not  go  with  me  into  these  saloons,  and  make 
yourself  agreeable,  and  even  turn  a  glass  up  to  your  lips 
— you  needn't  drink  it,  Manning;  and  if  you  should  un 
fortunately  get  any  of  it  on  your  lips,  and  should  n't  like 
the  taste"  (here  the  Squire  chuckled  and*  winked), 
"  why,  I  '11  lend  you  a  handkerchief  to  wipe  it  off  with  ; 
and  you  've  won  these  fellows,  made  them  your  friends, 
and  are  not  a  whit  worse  yourself  for  it.  They  '11  say 
you  're  no  fanatic  after  all ;  and  some  of  them  will  sure 
ly  support  you." 

"  But  I  am  a  fanatic,"  persisted  Manning  ;  "  that  is, 
if  a  fanatic  is  one  who  is  bitterly  opposed  to  the  liquor 
business.  I  would  rather  be  defeated  without  their 
help  than  nominated  with  it." 

The  Squire's  voiceless  comment  on  Manning's  last 
speech  consisted  of  two  words,  a  noun  and  a  participial 
adjective,  which  may  be  paraphrased  thus  :  An  individ 
ual  wholly  destitute  of  understanding,  destined  for  the 
bottomless  pit. 

"  Pshaw  !"  exclaimed  the  Squire,  with  an  expression 
of  mingled  pity  and  disgust.  "Pshaw!  pt  !  I  tell 
you,  young  man,  it 's  impossible  to  cope  with  the  saloon 
influence  in  a  convention.  Here  you  must  exercise  dis 
cretion.  The  great  point  is  to  get  votes.  If  you  do 
not  get  votes  enough,  you  will  not  be  nominated.  That, 
sir,  was  the  reason  why  the  late  Senator  did  not  become 
President.  And  if  decent  men  act  the  fool,  so  that 
they  can  not  get  votes  enough,  we'll  never  have  anoth 
er  decent  man  in  office.  Now,  when  I  was  a  candidate 
for  the  Legislature,  I  did  n't  act  the  fool.  So  I  expect 
you  to  follow  me  to-day,  and  assure  you  that  if  you  do 
all  will  be  well.  Not  another  word,  not  another  word  !" 
he  said,  as  Manning  made  an  effort  to  speak.  "  I  don't 


198  A   SUBTLE    ADVERSARY 

want  to  talk  on  the  same  subject  all  day.  Have  you 
ever  seen  such  a  grand  prospect  for  corn  ?  "  he  added, 
changing  the  theme  abruptly.  "  With  what  luxuriance 
of  growth  the  tiny  shoots  of  maize  are  even  now  re 
sponding  to  the  combined  influence  of  gentle  showers 
and  vivifying  sunbeams." 

Thereupon  the  Squire,  having  abandoned  the  prac 
tical,  soared  aloft  with  "winged  words"  into  the  vis 
ionary  and  theoretical,  indulging  occasionally,  by  way 
of  personal  reminiscence,  in  the  statement  of  some  of 
the  wonderful  sayings  of  the  late  Senator  Stephen  A. 
Douglas. 

Arrived  at  Holyterror,  the  Squire  lost  no  time  in 
conducting  his  companion  towards  Donnerblitzen's 
saloon.  Mr.  Manning  was  surprised  at  the  extensive- 
ness  of  his  friend's  acquaintance  with  the  people,  and 
his  accurate  recollection  of  their  names  and  business, 
and  the  names  even  of  the  wives  and  children  of  many 
of  them.  The  Squire  had  dismounted  from  his  dignity, 
and  was  now  "hale  fellow  well  met"  with  everybody, 
shaking  hands  with  this  man  and  introducing  him  to 
the  young  attorney,  and  slapping  another  confidentially 
on  the  shoulder  and  performing  a  like  introduction, 
and  at  the  same  time  stating  that  the  young  man  was  a 
candidate  for  the  office  of  State's  attorney,  and  a  most 
talented,  worthy  and  upright  youth,  somewhat  bashful, 
and  little  given  to  the  pressing  of  his  own  claims,  but 
having  a  large  number  of  influential  friends  who  would 
certainly  attend  to  that  part  of  the  work  for  him.  "  We 
want  help,  support — need  it — must  have  it ;  and  besides, 
you  want  to  be  on  the  winning  side — so  come  to  the 
primary  and  vote  for  delegates  for  Manning."  Some 
promised  they  would,  others  said  they  were  pledged  to 
the  support  of  Sawtheaire,  and  others  still  gave  equiv 
ocal  answers.  But  the  Squire,  nothing  daunted,  pressed 
vigorously  on,  seeming  to  enjoy  the  business,  as  if  a 
political  "  fight  "  was  his  natural  employment. 

"  Hello  !  friend  Donnerblitzen,"  cried  the  Squire  as 
he  found  that  worthy  gentleman  standing  with  a  crowd 


ttOLYTERROR.  199 

in  front  of  his  saloon.  "  You  're  as  hearty  and  jolly  as 
ever  !  How  are  you,  any  way  ?  And  how  's  the  wife  ? 
Let  me  see  !  Jacob  must  be  nearly  grown  by  this  time  ! 
And  how  's  the  baby  ?  "  Without  waiting  for  an  an 
swer  to  these  interrogatories,  the  Squire  seized  Man 
ning  by  the  arm  and  dragged  him  forward,  and  soon 
had  him  shaking  hands  with  Donnerblitzen.  Manning 
was  then  presented  to  the  enlightened  freemen  who 
were  standing  around  the  entrance  to  the  saloon,  and 
gradually  elbowed  along  in  the  direction  of  the  saloon, 
by  the  adroit  management  of  his  friend.  "  I  '11  fix  him 
yet,"  thought  the  Squire.  "Boys,"  he  said  to  the 
crowd,  some  of  whom  looked  like  they  were  old  enough 
to  tumble  into  the  grave  with  the  very  next  breeze, 
"come  in,  come  in,  every  one  of  you,  and  have  a 
drink.  Manning  wants  to  treat  his  friends.  He  wants 
your  votes,  too,  at  the  primary.  Above  all  things, 
do  n't  forget  that. " 

"We're  fur  Sawtheaire,"  cried  one  old  red-eyed 
veteran. 

"  Don't  care  anything  about  that,"  announced  the 
Squire,  with  a  wave  of  the  hand.  "Come  right  in. 
Friend  Donnerblitzen,  what  have  you  got?  Something 
that  will  start  the  blood,  eh?  Come,  Manning,"  he 
continued,  taking  that  gentleman  by  the  shoulder, 
"come  and  drink  with  your  friends,  or,  rather,  invite 
your  friends  to  drink  with  you.  Oh,  pshaw !  you  can 
stand  another  drink  after  such  a  long  ride." 

But  William  Manning  drew  back.  With  a  quick 
movement  he  shook  off  the  Squire's  hand. 

"  If  you  mean  to  insinuate  that  I  have  been  drink 
ing  "  —  he  began,  while  every  eye  was  fixed  upon  him, 
and  every  ear  erect  to  hear  what  he  was  going  to  say. 
.  "Confound  the  boy !"  thought  the  Squire.  Then 
he  looked  in  the  direction  of  his  team,  and  shouted  out: 
"  Whoa  !  whoa,  there  !  you  fools  !  whoa,  I  say  !  "  Every 
eye  was  now  turned  towards  the  horses.  The  poor 
brutes  had  been  standing  by  the  fence,  to  which  they 
were  tied,  with  the  meekness  and  patience  of  lambs ; 


2OO  A    SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

but  at  the  sound  of  the  Squire's  roaring  commands  be 
gan  to  twist  about,  and  push  against  one  another,  and 
then  to  throw  up  their  heads  and  tug  away  at  their  hal 
ters,  as  if  Satan  was  pressing  towards  them  in  full  pur 
suit. 

"There,  Manning!"  roared  the  Squire,  "look  aft 
er  those  horses,  will  you  ?  You  're  younger  than  I 
am!  You'll  have  to  stay  with  them  till  I  come,  or 
there  '11  be  trouble.  I  told  that  cues  this  morning  not 
to  give  me  a  team  of  runaways,  and  this  is  the  way  he 
has  obeyed  me.  Stay  with  them  till  I  come!  "  he 
said,  elevating  his  voice,  as  Manning  laid  his  hand  upon 
one  of  the  horses ;  and  then,  turning  to  the  crowd,  he 
said  : 

"Come  on,  boys;  let 'shave  a  drink.  Manning's 
a  peculiar  fellow — always  pretends  at  first  that  he 
does  n't  want  anything  to  drink.  He  has  to  be  begged, 
and  begged,  and  begged !  Like  a  girl  about  playing 
the  piano,  eh?  Then,  when  he  gets  at  it,  he  likes  it 
as  well  as  any  of  us.  I  '11  bet  his  mouth  is  watering 
now!" 

The  crowd  was  not  slow  in  accepting  the  Squire's 
invitation.  In  a  few  minutes  every  man  of  them  stood 
at  the  bar,  with  a  glass  of  whisky  in  his  hand. 

"  I've  heered  it  said  that  Manning  is  a  teetotaler," 
said  one.  "Some  say  ef  he  had  his  own  way  thar 
would  n't  be  a  saloon  in  the  hull  country." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  the  Squire.  "  Do  you  take  the 
young  man  for  a  natural-born,  driveling  idiot?" 

"I  don't  take  him  for  anything,  Squire.  That's 
what  I  heered." 

"Who  told  you  any  such  stuff  as  that?" 

"I  don't  mind  who  it  was  now,  but  I  know  I've 
heered  it." 

"  I  '11  tell  you  who  it  wuz,"  said  another.  "  It  wuz 
that  other  feller — what 's  his  name  ?  " 

"  Sawtheaire  ?  "  suggested  a  third. 

"Yes,  to  be  sure — that's  his  name.  He  wuz  here 
a  leetle  over  two  weeks  ago,  an'  I  heered  him  say 


HOLYTERROR.  2Ol 

Manning  wuz  fur  prohibition.  I  know  it  made  quite  a 
talk  'round  town  like." 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense!"  cried  the  Squire,  bringing 
his  clenched  fist  down  on  the  counter.  ' '  Manning  for 
prohibition  !  That 's  rich  !  A  man  running  for  office 
in  our  party,  and  yet  a  staunch  supporter  of  prohibi 
tion  !  Talk  about  a  three-legged  horse,  or  a  five-legged 
elephant !  Manning — Manning  for  prohibition  !  That 's 
another  of  Sawtheaire's  infernal  lies.  He  is  the  big 
gest  liar  on  earth,  and  the  people  of  this  county  are 
about  to  find  it  out.  I  've  tracked  him  all  over  the 
county,  for  the  last  two  weeks,  exposing  his  lies,  and  I 
tell  you,  the  lion's  skin  is  about  to  drop  off.  You 
know  me,  gentlemen !  You  've  seen  me  before  !  Don- 
nerblitzen  knows  me !  Do  you  suppose  I  'd  support 
a  man  who  was  in  favor  of  taking  away  our  liberties? 
Is  there  a  man  here  with  a.  glass  'of  liquor  in  his  hand, 
paid  for  by  me  with  Manning's  money,  who  believes 
such  a  thing  possible  ?  I  pause  for  a  reply." 

"No,"  "No,"  "No,"  shouted  a  chorus  of  voices. 
"You're  all  right,  ol'  buck!"  "We  know  you,  ol" 
feller!  You're  true-blue,  simon-pure!"  "'Rah  fur 
the  Squire  !  ''  These  and  similar  exclamations  testified 
to  the  Squire's  popularity  with  this  portion  of  the  pop 
ulation  of  Holyterror. 

"If  I'm  all  right,"  roared  the  Squire,  in  stentorian 
tones,  "  then  Manning  's  all  right — or  else  you  accuse 
me  of  trying  to  deliver  you  into  the  hands  of  the  Phil 
istines. " 

But  one  red-eyed  veteran  was  not  yet  fully  con 
vinced,  and  therefore,  with  some  hesitation,  he  said : 

"  No,  Squire,  we  don't  keer  nuthin'  about  the  Fil- 
lystines — they  're  dead  ez  mackerel,  long  ago.  But  we 
want  to  know  what  Manning  meant  when  he  said  a 
while  ago,  that  ef  you  meant  he  'd  been  drinkin' — " 

"  What  did  he  mean?''  thundered  the  Squire,  with 
a  voice  which  made  his  interrogator  shrink  back  into 
his  shell.  "  What  did  he  mean  ?  I  '11  tell  you  what  he 
meant.  I  had  just  said,  '  You  can  stand  another  drink 


2O2  A   SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

after  such  a  long  ride,'  and  Manning — well,  I  know  the 
boy's  peculiarities — thought  I  was  accusing  him  of 
drinking  too  much.  That 's  a  pet  expression  of  his.  He 
was  going  to  say  that  if  I  meant  to  imply  that  he  had 
been  drinking  toy  much,  it  was  false.  He  was  cut  short 
at  the  word  drinking  by  the  antics  of  those  runaway 
horses." 

This  explanation  was  satisfactory  to  all,  except  the 
red-eyed  inquisitor,  who  swallowed  his  doubts,  how 
ever,  preparatory  to  the  swallowing  of  the  contents  of 
his  glass.  Impressed  with  the  gravity  of  the  occasion, 
and  with  his  own  colossal  dignity,  the  Squire  stepped 
back  from  the  bar,  that  his  speech  might  have  the 
greater  effect  upon  his  auditors,  and  holding  his  glass 
in  his  hand,  spoke  as  follows : 

"Do  you  suppose  I  would  lend  the  weight  of  my 
influence  to  any  man  whose  political  tenets  embraced 
so  heinous  a  proposition  as  prohibition  ?  What  is  lib 
erty,  that  it  can  thus  be  lightly  thrown  away?  Has 
not  Squire  Ingleside  ever  been  a  bitter  and  uncom 
promising  enemy  of  sumptuary  laws  ?  In  vain  did  our 
revolutionary  forefathers  shed  their  patriotic  blood  at 
Bunker  Hill,  if  a  man's  right  to  drink  this  exhilarating 
fluid  can  be  taken  away  from  him  now  by  wikf-eyed 
fanatics !  " 

Here  the  Squire  was  interrupted  by  a  vigorous 
thumping  on  the  bar,  and  by  cries  of  "  Good  !  good  !  " 
"That's  so,  every  word  of -it!  '  When  the  applause 
subsided,  he  resumed  his  address : 

"The  liberties  transmitted  to  us  by  our  forefathers, 
let  us  transmit,  unimpaired,  to  our  posterity.  One  of 
the  brightest  sons  of  liberty  in  the  State  of  Illinois  is 
now  offering  you  this  treat  through  me,  his  humble 
agent.  You  may  drink  occasionally,  boys,  but  you 
like  honesty  and  industry ;  and,  liking  honesty  and  in 
dustry,  you  must  vote  for  William  Manning.  Both  of 
these  qualities  find  in  him  their  most  noble  develop 
ment, — while  Sawtheaire  is  a  liar.  I  know  him!  He's 
a  vile  liar — a  crawling,  hissing,  cold-blooded  serpent. 


HOLYTERROR.  203 

You  '11  disgrace  the  county  if  you  nominate  him.  Well 
do  I  remember  the  words  of  the  late  Senator  Douglas, 
in  a  speech  during  the  canvass  of  1858.  Speaking  of  a 
certain  candidate,  whose  name  I  decline  to  mention,  he 
cried  out  in  a  voice  of  thunder  .  '  You  '11  disgrace  the 
county  if  you  nominate  him  ! ' '  Here  the  Squire 
paused  again,  and  the  applause  became  uproarious. 

Now,  Donnerblitzen  had,  up  to  this  time,  main 
tained  a  discreet  silence.  Squire  Ingleside  seemed  to 
be  a  good  patron,  and  it  was  against  his  business  prin 
ciples  to  give  unnecessary  offense  to  a  good  patron. 
But  he  could  restrain  himself  no  longer,  and  said : 

"Some  say  dat  Manning  vill  fight  mit  de  saloons. 
Ve  not  support  such  a  man  as  dat." 

"  Who  says  so?  "  thundered  the  Squire. 

"  Veil,  dat  Sawteaire — he  say  so." 

"Just  as  I  supposed,"  said  the  Squire.  "  Haven't  I 
told  you  he  is  the  biggest  liar  in  the  world  ?  Do  you 
suppose  Manning  will  prosecute  saloon-keepers  for  their 
little  violations  of  the  law?  You  do  him  injustice. 
You  do  not  know  him.  He  will  wink  at  your  little 
transgressions — wink  at  them,  I  say.  Now,  boys,  let 
us  have  no  more  foolishness.  Here  's  to  the  rising  law 
yer  and  statesman  of  Callitso  County,  our  next  prose 
cuting  attorney,  William  Manning  !  " 

The  glasses  were  emptied  with  an  evident  relish, 
and  the  Squire,  with  a  few  more  laudatory  words  for 
his  friend,  left  the  saloon. 

"Manning  must  be  a  purty  good  feller  after  all," 
said  one,  as  he  sucked  a  few  vagrant  drops  out  of  his 
mustache. 

"  He's  no  fanatic,  that's  clear,"  said  another. 

"  He  's  a  friend  of  liberty,  at  least,"  said  a  third. 

"I  believe  I  '11  vote  fur  him,"  said  a  fourth. 

' '  Gracious  !  how  the  Squire  kin  talk  !  I  wish  I  had 
his  eddication,"  said  a  fifth.  "He's  forgot  more 
about  the  Filly-stines  than  I  ever  knowed  !" 

"  I  do  n't  know  about  this  thing,"  said  the  red-eyed 
gentleman,  shaking  his  head.  "These  is  hard  times 


204  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

fur  a  pore  man.  Manning  did  n't  treat  but  once,  while 
Sawtheaire  treated  twice.  I  '11  go  fur  the  most  giner- 
ous." 

"  Ven  you  got  im  sure,  vot  for  you  shange  ?"  said 
Donnerblitzen.  "  I  go  for  Sawteaire  !" 

The  Squire,  in  the  meantime,  had  hastened  to  pay 
his  respects  to  Gootveinand  Jungfrau,  leaving  Manning, 
however,  in  charge  of  the  restive  horses,  which,  by  the 
way,  had  scarcely  moved  out  of  their  tracks,  since  they 
had  forgotten  the  Squire's  vociferous  commands. 

"Now,  Manning,"  said  the  Squire  as  he  took  his 
place  in  the  buggy,  "there's  a  queer  old  fellow  in 
Holyterror  whom  we  must  see  before  we  leave  town. 
His  name  is  Dontsmile — Deacon  Dontsmile.  Don't 
forget  to. call  him  Deacon,  for  if  you  do,  he'll  never 
forgive  you.  He  certainly  magnifies  his  office,  and 
more  especially  the  man  who  holds  the  office.  But, 
after  all,  he  is  considerable  of  a  politician.  He  can  do 
as  much  good  or  harm  for  you  in  this  place  as  any  of 
the  saloon-keepers,  but  with  a  different  class  of  men,  of 
course.  The  woods  east  of  here  are  full  of  men  of  his 
religious  faith,  and  he  is  the  Grand  Mogul  of  the  crowd, 
politically  as  well  as  religiously.  Now  you  must  not 
cross  him — must  not,  I  say.  He  believes  in  the  old- 
fashioned  doctrine  of  election.  You  must  fall  in  with 
him  on  this  pet  doctrine,  or  he'll  surely  fly  the  track." 

"  But  I  don't  believe  his  doctrine,"  said  Manning. 

"  Blast  it !"  said  the  Squire.  "  Keep  your  mouth 
shut  then.  Why,  you  are  no  politician  at  all.  Now 
even  Paul  was  a  tiptop  politician.  He  was  all  things 
to  all  men." 

"You  misconstrue  his  words  — 

"Never  mind  about  that,"  interrupted  the  Squire. 
"You  almost  knocked  the  fat  into  the  fire  at  Donner- 
blitzen's.  Now  I  want  you  to  show  a  little  good  horse 
sense.  Suppose  you  believe  the  Deacon  has  false  teeth. 
I  hope  you  do  n't  feel  it  your  bounden  duty  to  tell  him 
so.  You  need  n't  go  about  the  county  telling  every 
body  you  are  afflicted  with  corns,  just  because  you  've 


HOLYTERROR.  2O5 

got  'em.  You  may  believe  Mrs.  Ingleside  uses  powder 
and  paint.  Mark  you,  I  do  n't  say  she  does  or  does 
not.  But  bless  your  eyes,  Jennie  does  n't !  Manning, 
it 's  marvelous  what  a  complexion  that  girl  has  !  But  to 
return.  You  are  under  no  obligations  to  step  up  to 
Mrs.  Ingleside  and  say,  '  Madam,  I  have  penetrated 
through  your  flimsy  attempt  at  concealing  the  fact,  and 
tell  you  now  to  your  face  that  your  skin  is  sallow,  and 
that  the  soft  bloom  which  it  disports  is  manufactured!' 
I  say  you  are  under  no  obligations  to  make  this  speech 
to  Mrs.  Ingleside,  even  though  you  believe  this  to  be 
the  fact.  Nay,  more,  Manning,  I  would  warn  you  as  a 
friend  not  to  attempt  it  ;  for  Mrs.  Ingleside  is  a  very 
positive  character,  and  I  would  n't  undertake  to  be 
responsible  for  results.  No  more  is  it  necessary  for 
you  to  clash  with  the  Deacon  on  the  doctrine  of  elec 
tion.  Keep  your  mouth  shut.  You  keep  a  close 
mouth  on  your  own  private  history,  which  shows  that 
you  can  keep  silent  when  you  try.  Now  please  give 
me  a  chance  to  hook  the  Deacon,  will  you  ?" 

Manning  thought  the  Squire  had  presented  his  case 
with  considerable  force,  and  promised  to  do  his  best  to 
show  a  decent  respect  for  the  remains  of  the  doctrine 
of  election. 

"  It  is  the  next  thing  to  a  corpse,  sure  enough," 
chuckled  the  Squire,  who  no  more  believed  the  Dea 
con's  doctrine  than  Manning  did. 

They  fastened  their  horses  in  front  of  the  Deacon's 
residence,  and  went  in.  The  Deacon,  as  was  his  prac 
tice,  had  been  "  meditatin'  on  the  Scripters. " 

"What  did  yer  say  wuz  the  name,  Squire?"  he 
asked,  as  the  Squire  presented  William  Manning. 

"William  Manning,  our  next  State's  attorney," 
was  the  answer. 

The  Deacon  sighed,  and  surveyed  Mr.  Manning  from 
head  to  foot.  He  then  arose  and  went  to  the  mantel 
piece,  and  took  therefrom  a  red  silk  handkerchief 
which  was  rolled  up  with  marked  precision,  and,  having 
seated  himself,  slowly  unrolled  the  handkerchief,  till  a 


2O6  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

pair  of  gold-rimmed  spectacles  was  disclosed  to  view. 
He  wiped  the  dust  from  the  glasses  with  the  hand 
kerchief,  deliberately  put  the  glasses  astride  his  nose, 
and  then  surveyed  Mr.  Manning  from  head  to  foot  once 
more.  Then  he  rolled  the  glasses  up  in  the  handker 
chief,  laid  the  handkerchief  upon  the  mantel-piece,  and 
sighed  dolefully  as  he  resumed  his  seat.  "A  brand 
never  to  be  snatched  from  the  burnin'  !  Elected  ter  be 
damned  !  Glory  ter  God  !"  he  thought. 

"Well,  Deacon,  I  haven't  seen  you  for  several 
years,"  began  the  Squire.  "  Why,  I  expected  to  find 
some  marked  change — to  find  you  gray  and  wrinkled, 
for  instance.  But  bless  me,  you  look  as  young  as  you 
did  the  last  time  I  saw  you.  It  seems  like  yesterday, 
when  I  look  at  your  fresh  face,  but  I  know  it  has  been 
several  years  since  I  was  here.  Where  do  you  get 
your  prescription  for  keeping  young  ?  I  want  to  get 
hold  of  it,  and  try  it  on  Mrs.  Ingleside. " 

"Squire,  thar's  nuthin '11  keep  a  man  young  like 
knowin'  he 's  one  uv  the  elect.  If  I  had  my  just 
desarts,  I  'd  be  a  burnin'  in  the  lake  uv  fire  and  brim- 
stun  ;  an'  as  the  flames  licked  up  aroun'  my  legs,  I  'd 
shout,  '  Glory  to  God  fur  his  goodness!  I'm  glad  it 
ain't  no  worser !'  But  He  's  seen  fit  uv  his  own  good 
pleasure,  after  I  'd  wrastled  an'  wrastled  fur  years,  not 
knowin'  whether  I  wuz  one  uv  the  elect  or  not,  to  tek 
me  right  up,  ez  suddint  ez  ef  I  wuz  lifted  by  the  straps 
uv  my  boots,  an'  sot  me  on  the  rock.  O  Squire !  the 
doctern  of  election  is  the  blessedest,  comfortinest  doc- 
tern  in  the  Bible!" 

"  It  must  be  a  very  gracious  doctrine, "assented  the 
Squire,  "especially  for  one  like  yourself,  Deacon,  who 
is  able,  by  profound  study  and  meditation,  to  under 
stand  and  appreciate  it." 

"That's  so,  Squire.  Every  man  can't  understan' 
this  doctern.  The  Scripters  is  a  sealed  book  till  the 
light  from  above  takes  the  scales  off  your  eyes." 

' '  But  suppose  that  light  does  not  remove  the  scales 
— what  then?"  asked  Manning. 


HOLYTERROR.  2O/ 

"Young  man,"  said  the  Deacon  severely,  "you'd 
orter  be  a  learnin'  from  them  as  knows,  an'  has  had 
that  exper'ence,  an'  not  be  a-sottin'  yourself  up  above 
your  elders." 

"That  is  just  what  I  was  trying  tp  do,"  replied 
Manning.  "I  was  asking  you  for  information,  sup 
posing,  of  course,  you  would  give  it.  But  if  your 
doctrine  of  election  is  true,  what  does  Christ  mean  by 
inviting  all  the  weary  and  heavy-laden  to  come  to  him 
for  rest?" 

The  Deacon  sighed.  He  shook  his  head  slowly 
from  side  to  side.  Presently  he  said : 

"I  perceive  you  ur  yit  in  the  gall  uv  bitterness  an' 
the  bond  uv  iniquity." 

In  the  meantime  the  Squire  was  growing  exceed 
ingly  nervous.  "Plague  take  this  boy!"  he  said  to 
himself.  "I'll  leave  him  at  his  office  next  time.  Now 
how  am  I  to  bridge  the  chasm  between  him  and  the 
Deacon  ?  The  Deacon  has  evidently  been  prejudiced 
against  the  young  fellow,  which  is  very  unfortunate; 
for  the  Deacon's  prejudices  are  as  enduring  as  flint." 

Just  then  the  Deacon  glared  searchingly  at  Man 
ning,  and  propounded  his  test  question  : 

""Young  man,  do  you  believe  this  world  air  round?" 

"I  most  certainly — " 

"Whoa!  whoa!  whoa  there !"  howled  the  Squire 
with  the  voice  of  a  trumpet,  as  he  rushed  to  the  door. 
' '  Manning  !  I  say,  Manning !  You  '11  have  to  look  after 
those  horses  !  Quick !  I  'd  do  it  myself,  but  I  'm  get 
ting  too  old  and  clumsy  for  such  a  job.  The  next 
time  I  consent  to  drive  a  team  of  runaways,  you  '11 
know  it !" 

Manning,  feeling  himself  under  the  shadow  of  his 
friend's  displeasure,  and  yet  disgusted  with  himself  for 
stooping  to  ask  the  help  of  an  ignorant  religious  fanat 
ic,  hurried  forth  to  take  charge  of  the  horses,  while 
the  Squire  continued  the  interview  with  the  Deacon. 

"  Deacon,  I  suppose  you  remember  when  I  was  a 
candidate  for  the  Legislature.  I  found  in  you  one  of 


2O8  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

my  staunchest  supporters.  The  fact  is,  I  never  could 
have  been  nominated  without  your  influence.  Do  n't 
you  know,  Deacon,  I  believe  there  is  a  kind  of  divine 
grace  about  the  work  of  a  man  like  you  ?  For  whatever 
else  may  be  said,  there  is  no  denying  that  you  are  a 
man  of  God,  and  have  had  that  experience  that  work- 
eth  hope,  and  that  hope  that  maketh  not  ashamed." 

"I'll  tell  you,"  said  the  Deacon  solemnly,  "I  used 
to  be  stuck  fast  in  the  miry  clay.  I  wrestled  fur  nigh 
on  to  twenty  year.  But  I  knowed  ef  I  wuz  one  uv  the 
elect,  I  'd  heer  the  call.  And  when  I  heered  it — it 
came  suddint  like — I  wuz  jerked  right  out  uv  the  clay 
on  to  the  rock." 

"  Yes,  Deacon,  you  are  undoubtedly  a  chosen  vessel. 
The  Almighty  has  work  for  you  to  do.  But  there  are 
also  some  earthly  things  to  be  attended  to,  and  I  am 
greatly  mistaken  if  Deacon  Dontsmile  will  shirk  his  part 
of  the  labor  and  responsibility.  I  want  you  to  help 
pull  my  friend  Manning  through  the  convention." 

" Sorry,- Squire,  but  I  can't  do  it." 

"Why,  what's  the  matter?" 

"I've  agreed  to  support  Sawtheaire." 

"  What!  without  waiting  to  see  me?  " 

The  Deacon  moved  about  uneasily  on  his  chair. 

"  Why,  you  see,  Squire,"  he  said,  "Manning  denies 
the  doctern  of  election.  I  can  't  support  sich  a  man  ez 
that." 

"Who  told  you  such  a  contemptible  lie?  " 

"Well  now,  Squire,  I  don't  know  ez  I'd  orter 
tell." 

"So  you've  made  secret  bargains,  have  you,  Dea 
con?  Well,  now  I  am  suprised  !  " 

"No,  I  hain  't,  Squire.  If  you  insist  on  knowin',  I  '11 
tell  you.  It  wuz  Sawtheaire." 

"What,  that  lying,  bloated,  drunken  puppy  !  You 
didn't  believe  him,  did  you,  Deacon?" 

"  Why,  seein'  ez — ez — why,  you  know,  Squire — you 
know — " 

' '  I   know  Sawtheaire    is   the    biggest   liar   in    the 


HOLYTERROR. 

United  States.  Surely  you  have  confidence  in  me, 
Deacon.  You  surely  remember  that  case  you  had  be 
fore  me,  some  years  ago.  You  know  I  decided  it  in 
your  favor ;  and  you  told  me  afterwards  that  you  had 
unbounded  confidence  in  my  judgment  and  integrity." 

"So  have  I  yit,  Squire." 

1 '  Well,  then,  Deacon,  Sawtheaire  lied  to  you — that 's 
the  English  of  it ;  a  Biblical  expression,  Deacon — right 
to  the  point,  and  no  evasion.  As  an  old  friend,  let  me 
assure  you  that,  notwithstanding  some  strange  state 
ments  he  made  here  a  moment  ago,  Manning  believes 
firmly  in  the  doctrine  of  election.  I  mean  all  I  say." 
"  And  no  more  than  I  say,"  said  the  Squire  to  himself. 

"But  he  believes  this  world  air  round,  Squire;  an' 
that's  right  agin  the  Scripters.  He's  no  better 'n  a 
dyspeptic." 

"He  do  n't  believe  any  such  a  thing.  He  believes 
it  is  as  flat  as  your  yard."  The  Squire  chuckled  to  him 
self,  saying  inwardly,  "  I  suppose  his  yard  has  its  pro 
portionate  share  of  the  curves.'1 

"  Well,"  said  the  Deacon,  opening  his  eyes  in  won 
der,  "but  didn't  he  say  '  most  certainly '  when  I  axed 
him  ef  this  world  air  roun'." 

"  He  said  these  words,  Deacon,  '  I  most  certainly,' 
and  was  then  interrupted  by  those  horses  trying  to  get 
away.  Who  knows  but  that  he  intended  to  say,  '  I 
most  certainly  believe  the  world  is  flat ! ' ' 

"Well,"  said  the  Deacon,  opening  his  eyes  still 
wider,  "but  Sawtheaire  said  your  man  believed  the 
world  air  a-flyin'  'round  the  sun,  an'  that 's  square  agin 
the  Scripters  an'  agin  reason  too.  For  ef  the  world  air 
a  flyin'  'round  the  sun,  whar  's  the  string  that  keeps  it 
from  flyin'  off?  An'  the  Scripters  says  Joshuer  com 
manded  the  sun  an'  moon  to  stan'  still ;  an'  how  could 
they  stan'  still-ah  !  ef  they  wuz  already  stanin'  still-ah  ! 
An'  ef  the  world  goes  'round  the  sun,  the  sun  must  be 
a  stanin'  still,  when  everybody  knows  as  how  the  sun 
rises  an'  sots!  An'  you  know,  Squire,  it  would  make 
a  breeze  worse  "n  a  hurrycane. " 


2IO  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"I  tell  you,  Deacon,  Manning  doesn't  believe  any 
such  nonsense.  He  no  more  believes  that  the  earth 
goes  around  the  sun,  than  he  believes  the  sun  goes 
around  another  sun." 

"Well,"  said  the  Deacon,  "the  young  man  hev' 
been  misrepresented.  But  I  've  promised  Sawtheaire ; 
what  kin  I  do  about  that?  " 

"  I '11  tell  you,  Deacon,  I'll  make  it  all  right  with 
Sawtheaire.  He  lied  to  you  any  way — got  your  prom 
ise  by  falsehood,  and  is  wholly  unworthy  of  a  serious 
thought.  Just  keep  still.  Say  nothing  about  what  you 
are  going  to  do ;  but  when  the  time  comes,  get  your 
friends  to  the  primary.  You  may  have  to  hire  some 
one  to  drive  a  team,  or  something  of  that  kind,  you 
know — so  here  's  a  little  money  for  legitimate  purposes, . 
Deacon.  You  '11  need  it  all,  and  Manning  won 't  ex 
pect  any  account  to  be  rendered.  Now  do  your  best. 
Sawtheaire  is  a  sneak,  and  we  must  beat  him." 

"Squire,  you  know  that  my  stomick  is  very  weak, 
an'  the  doctor  insists  on  my  takin'  a  ieetle  drap  uv 
brandy  to  help  digestion.  I  hev'  pains  now  in  the  re 
gion  uv  of  my  stomick,  an'  feel  ez  ef  I  must  take  a 
Ieetle  medicine.  Squire,  would  you  like  ter  see  my 
cellar?" 

The  Squire  had  an  intense  desire  to  see  the  Deacon's 
cellar,  and  so  the  two  gentlemen  disappeared  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  the  cellar  was  duly  inspected  ;  after  which 
they  separated  with  mutual  expressions  of  regard,  and 
the  Squire  and  William  Manning  drove  away  from  this 
sanctified  locality. 

The  Squire  informed  Manning  of  the  result  of  his 
interview  with  the  Deacon,  but  not  of  the  means  by 
which  that  result  was  accomplished.  No  report  was 
made  to  the  candidate  concerning  the  various  sums  of 
"Manning's  money "  left  with  some  of  the  faithful 
workers  for  campaign  purposes,  for  Manning  had  not 
furnished  the  money,  but  the  Squire  had  produced  the 
"lucre"  from  his  own  well-filled  purse.  Yes,  indeed, 
Squire  Ingleside  was  a  faithful  friend  in  a  contest  like 


HOLYTERROR.  211 

this,  for  he  was  ready  to  sacrifice  both  time  and  money 
in  the  interest  of  his  candidate,  and  especially  if  he  had 
a  strong  personal  dislike  for  the  knight  of  the  opposi 
tion. 

There  happened  to  be  several  farmers  in  town  dur 
ing  the  afternoon,  who  were  opponents  of  the  domina 
tion  of  the  saloon  power  in  the  caucus  and  at  the  polls. 
They  were  respectable  and  responsible  men,  and  wielded 
some  influence  in  their  respective  localities.  The  Squire 
and  Manning  saw  these  men,  and  the  Squire,  who  was 
the  orator  of  the  day,  spoke  to  them  of  his  business, 
and  in  a  quiet  way  informed  them  that  Sawtheaire  was 
under  the  control  of  the  saloons  and  was  receiving  their 
support  under  promise  of  leniency  towards  them  for 
violations  of  the  law,  should  he  be  elected  State's  at 
torney.  He  urged  these  farmers  to  cause  no  discus 
sion  of  the  question,  but  to  impart  to  their  friends  who 
were  opposed  to  the  saloon  interests  a  knowledge  of 
this  corrupt  compact,  and  urge  them  to  be  present  and 
vote  at  the  primaries  in  their  respective  townships. 
This  they  promised  to  do.  And  the  work  of  the  day 
having  been  accomplished,  the  two  electioneerers  set 
out  for  Wellington. 

It  was  about  nine  o'clock  when  they  turned  their 
horses  over  to  the  care  of  the  hostler  at  the  livery  sta 
ble.  The  Squire  went  home,  and  Manning  walked  up 
to  the  corner  of  the  square,  where  he  found  an  unoccu 
pied  box  near  the  edge  of  the  sidewalk,  on  which  he 
sat  down,  that  he  might  indulge  in  some  reflections  on 
the  events  of  the  day,  and  the  devious  and  question 
able  paths  of  American  politics.  He.had  learned  much 
during  the:  day ;  he  had  found  that  the  road  to  office 
passed  through  many  quagmires  of  falsehood,  deceit 
and  iniquity  in  general ;  and  he  felt  almost  persuaded 
of  his  conscience  to  withdraw  his  name  from  the  pend 
ing  contest,  and  let  Sawtheaire  have  the  prize.  He 
took  off  his  hat,  that  the  soft  breeze  might  cool  his 
brow.  "Is  the  whole  body  politic  diseased?"  he 
asked  himself.  ' '  I  know  that  Squire  Ingleside  is  a 


212  A    SUBTLE     ADVERSARY. 

warm  friend  of  mine,  and  desires  my  nomination.  He 
is  an  old  and  successful  politician,  and  considered  an 
honorable  man.  Yet,  is  he  not  like  the  rest  of  them  ? 
Was  he  not  ready  this  day  to  bow  to  the  saloon-keeper 
and  to  treat  the  idler  and  the  loafer,  that  he  might  se 
cure  votes  for  me,  and  enjoy  a  triumph  over  Sawthe- 
aire  ?  And  yet,  what  am  I  ?  I  have  refused  to  enter 
saloons  and  to  buy  influence  with  treats ;  but  have  I 
not  suffered  the  Squire  to  do  so  in  my  behalf?  That 
ruse  of  the  Squire's  about  the  runaway  horses — do  I 
not  understand  what  it  meant  ?  And  did  I  not  sit  in 
the  buggy  and  hold  the  horses,  while  he  was  pour 
ing,  down  a  libation  in  the  saloon  for  my  glory?  He 
evidently  wanted  to  get  rid  of  me,  and  my  scruples 
and  plain  speech.  I  knew  it,  and  suffered  it,  and  be 
came  an  accessory  before  the  fact  as  to  all  the  Squire 
did.  It  looks  as  if  a  man  could  not.  by  honest  means, 
secure  a  nomination  at  the  hands  of  his  party.  My 
conscience  demands  my  withdrawal  from  a  contest 
where  corruption  on  my  part,  or  connivance  at  corrup 
tion  on  the  part  of  my  friends  in  my  behalf,  is  indis 
pensable  to  success.  And  yet,  I  need  the  office.  And 
so  it  goes.  Necessity  drives  us  to  the  devil.  My 
withdrawal  would  not  mend  matters.  I  can  not  stay 
the  tide  of  corruption.  I  must  work  for  Katie.  With 
that  office,  I  can  get  such  a  start  in  life  as  to  marry  in 
a  short  time  ;  without  it,  my  marriage  may  be  deferred 
for  years.  No,  for  her  sake  I  must  press  on  and  secure 
the  prize,  if  I  can.  " 

At  this  point  in  his  reflections,  his  attention  was  at 
tracted  by  the  rumble  of  wheels.  Several  vehicles 
were  passing.  The  light  from  the  store  windows  and 
from  the  lamp  at  the  street  corner,  opposite  where  he 
was  sitting,  enabled  him  to  see  the  occupants  of  the 
vehicles.  But  little  did  he  care  who  they  were.  They 
had  evidently  been  somewhere  on  a  picnic.  He  would 
have  taken  no  further  notice  of  them,  had  his  attention 
not  been  arrested  by  a  laugh  from  the  third  buggy. 
The  laugh  was  a  mixture  of  oiliness  and  coarseness  j 


HOLYTERROR.  2 1 3 

of  the  assumed  angelic  and  the  natural  devilish,  and 
could  have  proceeded  from  the  mouth  of  but  one  indi 
vidual  in  Wellington,  and  that  individual  was  Lyman 
Sawtheaire.  Yes,  the  driver  of  the  third  buggy  was 
Sawtheaire.  His  wounds  and  bruises  were  healed  suffi 
ciently  to  justify  his  public  appearance  as  one  of  the 
leading  attractions  of  a  Sunday-school  picnic.  But  who 
was  that  young  woman  at  his  side  ?  Could  it  be 
possible  ?  Katie  Anderson  !  William  Manning  de 
scended  from  his  box  with  the  agility  of  an  enraged 
panther,  and  stood  defiantly  erect,  gazing  at  the  mov 
ing  panorama.  And  why  should  she,  his  betrothed, 
be  riding  with  his  rival,  his  enemy,  his  foul  traducer — 
the  man  who  had  abused  and  vilified  the  one  she  pro 
fessed  to  love  ?  Here  was,  indeed,  a  revelation  !  Had 
any  one  prophesied  such  an  event,  he  would  have  de 
nounced  the  prophet  as  a  liar  and  a  knave.  But  there 
was  no  mistaking  the  evidence  of  the  senses  ;  whatever 
the  explanation,  the  fact  was  indubitable. 

Here  was  a  new  chapter  in  his  history,  demanding 
more  attention  than  all  the  political  complications  in 
v/hich  he  might  become  involved.  He  grew  warm,  and 
breathed  out  vengeance  against  this  man,  whom  he  re 
garded  as  his  avowed  enemy,  a  smooth-faced  and 
smooth-tongued  villain,  unfit  for  the  companionship  of 
a  pure,  true  woman.  While  he  did  not  assume  to  con 
trol  Katie,  or  to  say  that  she  should  not  attend  picnics, 
or  take  buggy-rides  with  other  young  men,  he  would 
say  this  much — she  could  not  be  his  affianced  and  keep 
company  with  Lyman  Sawtheaire.  For  a  moment  he 
thought  he  would  watch  for  Sawtheaire  and  dash  his 
brains  out.  But  no,  he  could  not  do  so  cowardly  an 
act ;  and  besides,  he  had  enough  to  answer  for,  without 
further  violation  of  the  divine  law. 

So  he  walked  away  in  the  opposite  direction,  he 
hardly  knew  or  cared  whither  ;  on,  and  on,  and  on,  till 
he  grew  weary  of  limb,  as  he  was  tired  of  brain  and 
sick  at  heart.  He  sat  down  and  rested,  and  then  re 
traced  his  steps.  It  was  two  o'clock  when  he  entered 


214  A   SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

his  room  and  flung  himself,  without  undressing,  on  his 
bed,  and  thought  that  his  was  the  only  wretched,  mis 
erable  heart  in  Wellington  that  night. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    PICNIC    AT    BARKER'S    GROVE. 

Mrs.  Anderson  and  her  daughter  Katie  were  con 
sistent  and  devoted  members  of  one  of  Wellington's 
leading  churches.  Be  it  known  unto  the  reader  that 
Wellington  had  many  churches,  yes,  as  many  churches 
as  saloons  ;  and  be  it  further  known  that  the  pastors  of 
these  churches  had  about  as  much  sincere  love  for  one 
another  as  a  Chinaman  entertains  for  a  cue-clipping 
Choctaw  ;  and  be  it  known  also  that  the  sheep  of  one 
fold  looked  upon  the  sheep  of  the  other  folds  as  being 
religiously  no  better  than  an  inferior  order  of  goats. 
For  these  reasons  it  appears  unadvisable  to  state  the 
name  of  the  church  to  which  the  Andersons  belonged. 
The  reader  is  invited  to  imagine  that  they  were  mem 
bers  of  his  or  her  own  church  ;  in  which  case  they  will  be 
accorded  by  all,  except  the  wolfish  outsider,  a  reasonable 
share  of  good  common  sense,  coupled  with  an  experi 
mental  knowledge  of  what  is  called  "  genuine  religion." 

This  church  was  manned  and  equipped  in  about  the 
same  style  as  its  neighbors.  It  had  its  pastor,  whose 
business  it  was  to  prepare  two  sermons  every  week  as 
brilliant  as  Beecher's  and  as  practical  as  Spurgeon's ;  to 
attend  all  public  gatherings,  picnics,  sociables,  festivals, 
lectures,  etc.,  etc.,  that  his  church  might  be  properly 
represented  on  such  notable  occasions  ;  to  chase  his  in 
corrigible  sheep  away  from  all  saloons,  billiard  halls, 
circuses,  theaters  and  dancing  halls,  where  they  might 
be  tempted  to  indulge  in  wolfish  pastimes ;  to  visit  the 
brethren  and  sisters  in  their  homes,  and  sit  with  the 
bowed  head  and  meek  spirit  of  dear  old  Tom  Pinch 
while  being  lectured  from  house  to  house  for  his  innu 
merable  delinquencies ;  to  drive  twenty  miles  through 
mud  and  sleet  to  preach  a  funeral  sermon,  only  to  be 
reminded  that  his  "  words  was  not  as  comfortin'  as 

315 


2l6  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

Brother  Meshacjc's  used  to  be  ;''  all,  all  this,  and  much 
more,  for  the  very  handsome,  the  overwhelmingly  lib 
eral  salary  of  seven  hundred  dollars,  two-thirds  cash 
during  the  continuance  of  his  earthly  ministry,  and  the 
balance  in  an  extra  gem  in  his  crown  on  the  day  of 
judgment.  This  church  had  also  its  flock,  whose  busi 
ness  it  was  to  attend  divine  services  whenever  it  was 
neither  too  hot  nor  too  cold,  too  wet  nor  too  dry,  and 
when  there  was  nothing  more  stimulating  to  attend,  to 
save  a  nickel  out  of  their  liberal  contributions  to  the 
devil  during  the  week  for  the  collection-basket  on  Sun 
day,  and  to  snore  or  to  examine  Miss  Prim's  new  bon 
net  while  the  pastor  was  laboriously  floundering  about 
with  his  text,  and  then  go  home  and  criticise  the  ser 
mon  as  being  commonplace  and  uninteresting.  But 
above  all,  this  church  had  its  well-trained  choir.  The 
most  distinguishing  function  of  the  choir  was  to  bounce 
up  like  puppets,  when  the  appearance  of  the  reverend 
pastor  in  the  pulpit  indicated  the  moment  for  service  to 
begin,  and  to  sing  an  anthem,  contain  ing  a  due  propor 
tion  of  solos,  duets  and  choruses,  for  the  edification  of 
the  worshipers.  Katie  was  a  member  of  this  choir,  and 
sometimes  sang  a  solo.  The  chorister  was  exceedingly 
careful  to  select  an  anthem  which  was  touching  and  ap 
propriate  in  phraseology  as  well  as  in  music.  The  Sun 
day  before  the  picnic,  of  which  particular  mention  will 
soon  be  made,  the  choir  had  sung  the  following  im 
pressive  words:  "  I  was  glad,  I  was  glad,  I  was  glad,  I 
was  glad,  I  was  glad,  I  was  glad  when  they  said  unto 
me.  We  will  go,  we  will  go,  we  will  go  into  the  house  of 
the  Lord.  Peace  be  within  thy  wall?,  and  prosperity, 
prosperity  within  thy  palaces,  within  thy  palaces  ;  peace 
be  within  thy  walls,  peace  be  within  thy  walls,  thy 
walls,"  etc.,  etc.  When  the  anthem  closed  with  a 
flourish,  and  the  choir  sat  down,  one  old  gentleman 
muttered  that  he  was  glad,  and  another,  who  had  never 
heard  an  anthem  before,  said  he  could  n't  understand 
their  words,,  but  it  seemed  to  him  " 's  if  they  kinder 
stammered  like;"  but  the  chorister  was  afterwards 


THE    PICNIC    AT    BARKER'S    GROVE.  2l/ 

congratulated  by  some  of  the  prominent  musicians  of 
the  place,  and  affirmed  that  he  always  selected  an  an 
them  for  the  sentiment  rather  than  the  sound. 

It  becomes  the  sad  duty  of  the  chronicler  to  say 
that  this  church,  like  all  others,  had  its  full  quota  of 
hypocrites,  whited  sepulchers,  very  beautiful  without, 
so  that  it  was  really  a  pleasure  to  stroll  about  the 
churchyard  and  look  at  their  outward  graces — one  tall, 
tapering  column  capped  with  a  peaceful  dove,  and  one 
large  slab  garnished  with  an  anchor  and  a  crown — even 
as  men  delight  to  walk  about  Mt.  Auburn  Cemetery 
and  examine  its  beautiful  monuments  covered  with 
laudatory  inscriptions,  and  inhale  the  breath  of  its 
many  sweet-smelling  flowers  ;  and  yet  very  repulsive 
within,  full  of  dead  men's  bones  and  all  manner  of 
uncleanness,  serving  the  devil  in  their  hearts,  and 
attending  church,  not  for  spiritual  gain,  but  for  in 
fluence  in  business,  politics  or  social  circles.  These 
individuals  did  not  belong  to  a  species  of  recent  origin, 
but  were  descended  in  a  direct  line  from  those  men  to 
whom  Christ  said,  "  Ye  seek  me,  not  because  ye  saw 
the  miracles,  but  because  ye  did  eat  of  the  loaves  and 
were  filled." 

One  of  the  regular  attendants  at  this  church  and 
leading  spirits  of  its  Sunday-school  was  Lyman  Saw- 
theaire,  Esq.,  and  so  highly  pleased  were  the  members 
of  this  church  with  the  attendance  of  this  eminent 
young  lawyer  at  their  church,  and  his  manifest  appre 
ciation  of  sound  doctrine  as  it  fell  from  the  lips  of  their 
beloved  pastor,  and  his  abhorrence  of  the  heretical 
teaching  of  the  pastors  of  the  neighboring  churches, 
that  they  proceeded  immediately  to  honor  the  Deity 
by  the  appointment  of  Mr.  Sawtheaire  as  one  of  the 
teachers  in  the  Sunday-school.  He  was  set  over  a 
class  of  young  women,  as  the  result  of  a  joint  con 
spiracy  of  the  young  women  themselves  and  the  moth 
ers  in  Israel  who  were  firm  believers  in  the  inspiration 
of  the  Scripture  which  says  that  ' '  it  is  not  good  that 
the  man  should  be  alone."  Katie  was  a  member  of 


2l8  A    SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

this  class,  and  received  undue  preference  in  the  distri 
bution  of  the  heavenly  manna  from  the  saintly  Sawthe- 
aire.  If  her  answers  indicated  that  she  had  not  mas 
tered  her  lesson,  he  propounded  all  the  hard  questions 
to  the  others ;  and  when  he  did  ask  her  a  question, 
framed  the  interrogatory  so  as  to  suggest  the  answer ; 
but  if,  on  the  other  hand,  she  manifested  a  sufficient 
knowledge  of  the  lesson,  he  directed  his  questions 
principally  to  her,  that  she  might  have  ample  opportu 
nity  to  show  how  much  she  knew.  All  of  this  was 
unsatisfactory  to  the  entire  class,  and  to  none  less  sat 
isfactory  than  to  Katie  herself.  Mr.  Sawtheaire's  at 
tentions  were  too  noticeable,  and  she  was  greatly  dis 
pleased  at  his  efforts  to  make  himself  agreeable.  She 
knew  well  enough  that  her  class-mates  were  in  the  habit 
of  making  unfavorable  comments  on  the  situation. 
Some  of  them  said  she '"put  herself  in  his  way — 
seemed  determined  to  catch  him  if  she  could."  "A 
pretty  wife  she  would  make  for  a  lawyer,"  one  of  them 
whispered  spitefully  to  her  friend.  "  I  never  saw  such 
a  for'ard  thing  in  my  life,"  was  the  answer.  Mean 
while  there  sat  Katie,  modest  and  gentle,  wishing  that 
Sawtheaire  would  not  address  so  much  of  his  instruc 
tion  to  her,  and  far,  very  far,  from  desiring  to  make  a 
conquest  of  her  Sunday-school  teacher. 

On  the  afternoon  preceding  the  events  narrated  in 
the  last  chapter,  Katie  was  seated  near  the  large  double 
window  of  the  sitting-room,  engaged  in  the  manu 
facture  of  some  kind  of  dainty  trimming,  the  technical 
name  of  which  has  escaped  the  author's  mind.  The 
college  had  been  closed  and  during  her  summer  vaca 
tion  she  expected  to  have  opportunity  for  some  atten 
tion  to  manual  and  household  duties.  She  was  now  work 
ing  with  a  thing  called  a  crochet-needle,  and  her  mind 
was  intently  occupied  in  directing  the  movements  of  the 
needle,  and  keeping  an  accurate  count  of  the  number  of 
stitches  of  this  kind,  and  of  that  kind,  and  then  of  the 
other  kind,  in  order  that  the  trimming,  when  finished, 
might  be  exactly  according  to  rule,  and  so  much  the 


THE    PICNIC    AT    BARKER'S    GROVE. 

more  as  it  was  to  be  worn  where  nobody  but  herself 
would  ever  have  even  the  remotest  expectation  of  get 
ting  a  glimpse  of  it.  While  thus  engaged  she  was 
startled  by  loud  knocking  at  the  door.  The  caller  was 
either  not  acquainted  with  the  use  of  door-bells,  or  de 
spised  them,  and  thought  a  vigorous  pounding  on  the 
door  the  speediest  means  of  rousing  the  household. 
Katie  hastened  to  the  door,  where  she  found  an  urchin 
about  ten  or  twelve  years  of  age,  with  a  dainty,  sweet- 
smelling  note  in  his  hand,  which  he  almost  flung  in  her 
face.  He  then  rushed  unceremoniously  and  in  great 
haste  down  the  walk  to  join  two  or  three  boys  and  as 
many  dogs,  waiting  for  him  on  the  other  side  of  the 
road,  utterly  unmindful  of  the  fact  that  he  had  been 
seriously  admonished  to  wait  for  an  answer. 

Katie's  fingers  trembled  as  she  attempted  to  open 
the  note,  which  was  addressed  in  a  bold  hand  which  she 
had  seen  before  and  instantly  recognized.  She  read  as 
follows : 

"  Lyman  Sawtheaire  presents  his  compliments  to  Miss  Katie  Ander 
son,  and  requests  the  pleasure  of  her  company  to  the  Sunday-school  pic 
nic  at  Barker's  Grove  to-morrow. 

"  WELLINGTON,  111.,  June  16,  1876." 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  tear  the  note  into  pieces 
for  the  garnishment  of  the  waste-basket.  She  checked 
herself  as  she  considered  that  such  a  course  would 
be  highly  discourteous,  inasmuch  as  Mr.  Sawtheaire 
had  always  treated  her  with  respect,  and  had,  on  this 
particular  occasion,  sent  her  a  perfumed  note  couched 
in  polite  terms.  Besides,  he  was  her  Sunday-school 
teacher,  and  this  was  the  Sunday-school  picnic.  She 
had  intended  going  to  this  picnic  with  her  brother. 
Now  she  must  abandon  the  picnic  altogether,  or  accept 
of  Lyman  Sawtheaire  as  a  companion  and  escort. 
Headache,  or  toothache,  or  some  other  serious  malady, 
must  be  invoked  to  furnish  a  sufficient  excuse  for  de 
clining  the  honor  of  that  gentleman's  company;  for  go 
with  him  she  would  not,  unless  forced  to  do  so  by  the 
peremptory  commands  of  her  father.  She  went  to  her 


22O  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

room  and  wrote  a  note  in  which  she  assured  Mr.  Saw- 
theaire  that  she  regretted  very  much — here  she  paused, 
and  pressed  her  white  teeth  into  the  end  of  her  pen 
holder,  and  indulged  in  serious  cogitation.  What  should 
she  say?  She  had  neither  the  headache  nor  the  tooth 
ache  ;  therefore  she  must  use  general  instead  of  specific 
terms.  Oh  yes,  how  stupid  she  was  not  to  have  thought 
of  it  before ! —  regretted  very  much  that  the  state  of  her 
health  rendered  it  unadvisable  for  her  to  attend  the  pic 
nic  on  the  morrow.  This  was  certainly  general  enough. 
She  read  the  note  and  re-read  it,  and  once  more  sank 
her  pearly  teeth  into  the  pen-handle.  "No,"  she 
thought  seriously,  ' '  that  will  never  do.  Why,  I  'm  in 
perfect  health  ;  and  if  called  upon  to  justify  the  state 
ment  of  that  note,  would  be  hard  put  to  it  for  an  answer. " 
So  she  tore  up  the  note  and  began  again.  It  was  re 
markable  what  care  she  exercised  in  the  formation  of 
her  letters,  considering  the  fact  that  she  looked  upon 
Mr.  Sawtheaire  v/ith  utter  abhorrence  ;  which  is  merely 
an  additional  proof  of  the  proposition  that  a  woman 
likes  to  appear  her  best  even  in  the  presence  of  those 
she  despises.  So,  after  the  usual  preliminaries,  Miss 
Katie  announced  that  previous  engagements  would 
prevent  her  from  attending  the  picnic.  She  read  this 
note  over  thoughtfully,  and  then  said  to  herself:  "That 
will  do.  '  Previous  engagements '  covers  a  multitude  of 
sins.  I  ought  to  help  mother  weed  her  flowers  to-mor 
row;  and  I  have  a  previous  engagement  to  go  with  my 
dear  brother  James,  and  I  think  a  contract  "with  one's 
brother  is  just  as  solemn  as  an  engagement  with  a 
stranger.  And  more  than  all,  I  have  a  previous  engage 
ment  with — with  Mr.  Manning,  which  forbids  keeping 
company  with  Mr.  Sawtheaire  at  any  time  or  place." 

Just  then  she  heard  the  voice  of  Her  mother  calling 
her  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  "Yes,  in  a  minute," 
she  answered,  and  hurried  down  to  meet  her  mother  in 
the  sitting-room. 

"Who  was  at  the  door  a  moment  ago?  "asked 
Mrs.  Anderson. 


THE    PICNIC    AT    BARKER'S    GROVE.  221 

"Bobby  Stormer." 

"What  did  he  want?" 

Katie  felt  slightly  uneasy,  as  she  answered : 

"He  brought  me  a  note." 

Mrs.  Anderson  pressed  her  inquiries  till  Katie  made 
a  full  statement  of  the  contents  of  the  note. 

"Well,  I  suppose  you  will  have  to  accept,"  said 
the  mother. 

"  I  do  n't  want  to  go  with  him,"  pleaded  Katie.  "I 
would  prefer  to  stay  at  home.  I  have  n't  any  confi 
dence  in  him,  mother.  I  do  n't  like  him.  I  want  to  help 
you  weed  your  flowers  to-morrow,  for  I  detest  picnics 
any  way." 

"  But  you  have  no  good  excuse,  Katie,  for  declining 
his  invitation." 

Yes,  I  have,  mother, — I  don't  want  to  go,  and  then, 
if  I  did,  I  have  promised  to  go  with  James — " 

"That   is    no    excuse,   my  child, "  said  the  mother 
promptly.      "Mr.  Sawtheaire  is  a  friend  of  the  family;  . 
and  while  I  would  not  choose  him  for  your  companion, 
and  have   little  confidence  in    him  myself,  I  think  it 
would  be  better  for  you  to  go  with  him  this  time.     He 
teaches  your  class  in  Sunday-school,  and  stands  well  in 
the  community,  and  for  you  to  refuse  to  go  with  him, 
on  such  silly  pretenses,  would  be  an  absolute  affront,  i 
I  am  sure  your  father  will  insist  on  your  going,  and,  of 
all  things  in  this  world,  I  do  n't  want  you  to  cross  him. 
Your  father  is  in  great  danger,  as  you  know,  and  any 
unkindness  from  you   or  me    will   increase    it.     Your 
first   and  highest  duty  is  to  help  me  save  him.     He 
thinks  much  of  Mr.  Sawtheaire,  and  will  certainly  be 
displeased  if  you  do  not  accept  this  invitation." 

' '  But,  mother,  Lyman  Sawtheaire  is  the  very  worst 
of  company  for  father.  I  Ve  no  doubt  he  is  trying  to 
ruin  him — for  what  reason  I  can  't  conceive.  He  tempts 
father  to  drink,  and  gets  him  to  break  his  pledges." 

"How  do  you  know  that,  Katie? "asked  Mrs. 
Anderson. 

"  Well,  Miss  Oakford  says  he  does,  and  I  believe 


222  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

she  knows.  I  think  such  a  man  should  receive  no 
recognition  from  the  female  part  of  this  family,  so  I  do. 
If  we  countenance  him,  father  will  go  with  him  all  the 
more.  If  we  give  him  the  cold  shoulder,  father  may 
follow  our  example  after  awhile.  I  know  Lyman  Saw- 
theaire  is  helping  to  lead  father  into  drunkenness." 

"That  may  all  be  true,  but  what  can  we  do  about 
it?  We  can  not  make  your  father  accept  company  of 
our  choosing." 

"  If  father  chooses  his  company,  I  think  I  ought  to 
choose  mine,"  said  Katie  petulantly.  "At  least,  com 
pany  I  don't  like  ought  not  to  be  forced  upon  me." 

"Well,  daughter,  I  '11  speak  to  your  father  about  it, 
and  you  must  do  whatever  he  says.  It  won  't  hurt  you 
to  go  with  Mr.  Sawtheaire  once." 

Mrs.  Anderson  was  right  in  her  conjecture  that  her 
husband  would  insist  on  Katie's  acceptance  of  Lyman 
Sawtheaire's  invitation.  He  would  not  listen  even  to  a 
suggestion  to  the  contrary.  There  was  not  another 
young  woman  in  Wellington,  he  said,  but  would  feel 
highly  complimented  by  such  an  invitation.  Mr.  Saw 
theaire  was  one  of  the  most  promising  young  attorneys 
of  the  State,  and  would  be  honored  by  the  people  with 
the  office  of  State's  attorney.  He  considered  it  an  honor 
for  his  daughter  to  be  admired  by  Lyman  Sawtheaire. 

"You  are  acting  in  a  very  silly  manner,"  he  con 
tinued,  addressing  his  daughter.  "I  think  I  know 
where  the  trouble  is,  miss,  and  I  propose  to  put  a  stop 
to  it.  I  '11  nip  this  little  love  affair  of  yours  in  the  bud. 
I  have  reason  to  believe  you  have  been  with  William 
Manning  again,  notwithstanding  all  intercourse  with 
him  was  forbidden.  You  need  not  answer,"  he  con 
tinued,  raising  his  voice  as  Katie  made  an  effort  to 
speak;  "  I  tell  you,  you  need  not  answer,  for  I  can  post 
myself  without  appealing  to  you  for  proof.  I  am  aware 
of  the  fact  that  you  met  Manning,  and  walked  with  him 
the  night  you  pretended  to  go  to  see  Jennie  Ingleside. 
You  have  commenced  deceiving  your  parents  early  in 
life.  I  don't  want  to  hear  you  deay  it,  and  do  n't  want 


THE    PICNIC    AT    BARKER'S    GROVE.  223 

any  explanation,"  he  continued,  as  Katie  made  another 
effort  to  speak.  ' '  Now,  go  at  once  and  answer  Mr. 
Sawtheaire's  note,  and  James  will  take  him  the  answer." 

If  Henry  Anderson  had  not  been  blinded  by  feel 
ing,  or  prejudice,  or  perhaps  by  something  worse  than 
either,  he  would  have  been  touched  by  Katie's  ap 
pearance.  Her  pale  face  and  quivering  eyelids  pleaded 
powerfully  in  her  behalf.  Her  mother,  who  had  her 
self  spoken  rather  peremptorily  before  Mr.  Anderson 
came  home,  now  found  her  sympathies  largely  enlisted 
in  Katie's  cause ;  but  Mr.  Anderson  was  in  no  condi 
tion  for  reason  or  expostulation  to  be  of  any  avail,  and 
the  mother,  faint  at  heart,  endeavored  to  go  on  with 
her  work. 

"Go,  I  tell  you!"  cried  Mr.  Anderson,  as  Katie 
hesitated.  "Do  you  hear  me?"  he  asked  angrily, 
raising  his  voice.  And  then  he  struck  her  on  the  cheek. 

Oh,  how  her  cheek  tingled,  and  her  eyes  flashed! 
"Children,  obey  your  parents  in  the  Lord,"  is  the  di 
vine  requirement.  And  had  not  Katie  been  a  loving 
and  obedient  child,  ever  ready  to  sacrifice  her  slightest 
wish  to  her  father's  desire,  and  to  run  that  she  might 
do  his  bidding,  and  please  him,  till  the  moment  when 
her  woman's  heart  had  found  that  other  love,  which  is 
stronger  even  than  the  love  of  the  child  for  its  parent  ? 
Neither  life  nor  death,  nor  things  present,  nor  things 
to  come,  could  separate  her  from  that  other  and  higher 
love. 

As  Katie  slowly  ascended  the  stairway  to  her  room, 
rebellion  was  in  her  heart.  She  thought  of  all  imaginable 
things — she  carved  out  a  variety  of  destinies  for  her 
self.  She  finally  decided  that  she  would  leave  home. 
Yes,  she  would  earn  her  own  livelihood.  She  knew 
she  was  as  well  qualified  to  teach  school  as  many  of  the 
girls  who  were  teaching,  and  far  better  qualified  than 
some  of  them,  and  she  would  apply  for  a  school,  and 
work  for  herself  as  Elizabeth  Oakford  was  doing.  She 
would  live  no  longer  with  a  tyrant,  even  if  that  tyrant 
was  her  father.  She  would  leave  that  very  night.  She 


224  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

could  pack  the  few  things  she  actually  needed  into  a 
valise,  and  take  the  few  dollars  she  had  been  saving  up — 
ah  !  here  she  paused — to — to — buy  a  birthday  present 
for  father!  Yes,  for  father,  who  had  petted  her  in 
her  early  childhood,  and  in  subsequent  years  had 
made  her  his  companion ;  who  had  ever  spoken  to  her 
kindly  and  loved  her  tenderly  till  the  demon  rum  had 
become  his  master,  and  evil  companions  had  drawn  him 
away  from  light  into  darkness !  Here  she  broke  down. 
Her  father  was  hardly  responsible  for  his  acts.  He  had 
struck  her  unjustly,  but  surely  he  had  not  known  what 
he  was  doing.  Her  indignation,  her  anger,  gradually 
gave  way,  and  with  an  unsteady  hand  she  wrote  the 
note  which  informed  Mr.  Sawtheaire  that  she  would  go 
with  him  to  the  picnic  on  the  morrow. 

After  Katie  had  gone  upstairs  at  her  father's  com 
mand  to  write  the  note,  Mrs.  Anderson  ventured  a 
gentle  remonstrance:  "Henry,  this  seems  to  be  a 
great  trial  for  Katie.  Don't  you  think  it  would  be  bet 
ter  to  bear  with  her  a  little?" 

"I  understand  my  own  business,  Mrs.  Anderson," 
he  answered ;  and  then  the  affair  was  dropped. 

The  next  morning,  at  the  ringing  of  the  bell,  the 
children  began  to  gather  together  at  the  church,  eager 
for  what  was  to  them  one  of  the  most  important  events 
of  the  year.  Here  they  came,  in  little  groups  of  twos 
and  threes,  dressed  with  all  the  care  mothers  could 
exercise,  their  eyes  sparkling,  and  their  hearts  eager 
with  anticipation  of  the  many  good  things  they  hoped 
to  enjoy.  Occasionally  also  a  father  or  mother,  or  a 
larger  brother  or  sister,  bearing  a  heavy  basket,  strug 
gled  onward  to  the  grand  central  rendezvous.  At  last 
about  two  hundred,  young  and  old,  were  gathered  to 
gether,  waiting  for  the  forming  of  the  procession,  and 
the  beginning  of  their  triumphal  march  to  Barker's 
Grove.  Among  the  older  persons  present  were  Otho 
Milton,  a  brisk,  bustling  little  fellow,  the  superintend 
ent  of  the  school,  and  Jacob  Haynes,  one  of  the 
teachers, 


THR    PICNIC    AT    BARKER  S    GROVE.  225 

"Where  are  the  wagons,  brother  Milton?"  asked 
Haynes. 

At  this  question,  the  superintendent  began  to  fly 
hither  and  thither  in  great  distress. 

"Where  are  the  wagons?  Yes,  where  are  the 
wagons!  This  is  too  bad — too  bad !  "  he  exclaimed, 
wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  brow.  "I  don't 
know  what  to  do — what  to  do !  There  were  twenty- 
five  wagons,  carriages  and  hacks  promised,  and  here  are 
only  two!  What  can  be  the  matter  with  the  farmers? 
Oh,  this  is  really  too  bad !  " 

"And  what's  more,"  said  Jacob  Haynes,  "the 
wagons  will  not  be  here  either.  Mark  my  word ! 
You  '11  not  get  these  children  to  Barker's  Grove  before 
night." 

"Oh,  I  can't  think  it!"  exclaimed  poor  Mr.  Mil 
ton,  dancing  hither  and  thither  with  increasing  distress. 
"They  promised  to  co. Tie — good  men,  too  ;  I  say  they 
promised  to  come,  and  I  won't  give  them  up  yet. 
They'll  surely  be  here!  Why,  this  is  terrible!  " 

"Well  now,  you  needn't  tell  me,"  said  Haynes, 
extending  his  arm  with  an  emphatic  and  tragical  air. 
"People  are  too  busy  now  for  picnics.  You've  had 
your  picnic  too  soon — that 's  what 's  the  matter  !  Why 
didn't  you  wait  till  August,  when  people  would  be 
through  plowing  and  harvesting  ?  I  tell  you,  farmers 
can  't  leave  their  fields  on  such  a  day  as  this/' 

"Why,  brother  Haynes,  did  n't  you  vote  to  have 
the  picnic  now?  Didn't  you  say  this  was  the  best  time 
of  the  year  for  a  picnic?  And  now  you  want  all  the 
blame  to  fall  on  me.  Oh,  dear  !  what  shall  I  do?" 

"  I  left  the  time  to  you,  brother  Milton.  If  I  did 
vote  to  have  the  picnic  now,  it  was  to  please  you.  My 
judgment  was  against  this  time  of  the  year.  And  now 
you  see  what  an  elephant  you  've  got  on  your  hands." 

"Oh,  dear  me !  Be  patient,  dear  children,"  piped 
the  superintendent  in  his  most  encouraging  tones.  ' '  All 
things  will  work  together  for  good,  you  know.  We 
had  that  in  our  last  lesson.  Be  patient — patient.  Let 


226  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

patience  have  its  perfect  work.     Oh,  dear !    These  light 
afflictions  endure  but  for  a  moment.      Oh,  dear  me  !  " 

The  children  would  have  felt  greatly  relieved  by  the 
appearance  of  fifteen  or  twenty  vehicles.  As  it  was, 
notwithstanding  their  superintendent's  exhortations, 
they  were  in  the  agony  of  suspense  between  hope  and 
despair,  and  manifested  their  lack  of  faith  by  running 
first  to  one  street  and  then  to  the  other,  in  their  frantic 
efforts  to  discern  the  approach  of  the  one  thing  need 
ful.  Just  then  one  little  urchin  raised  a  joyful  shout. 
"Yonder  comes  a  waggin  ! "  he  cried.  Then  a  little 
girl  screamed  out  in  her  thin,  shrill  voice:  "Yonder 
comes  another!"  The  superintendent  now  became 
more  excited  than  ever,  and  rushed  from  one  group  to 
another,  telling  the  children  to  be  hopeful,  that  he  had 
borne  the  matter  on  his  heart  to  the  Lord,  and  that  all 
things  would  work  together  for  good,  as  they  had 
learned  in  their  last  Sunday-school  lesson.  "  I  'd  rath 
er  see  the  waggins  a-comin'  !  "  shouted  one  faithless  little 
imp.  Jacob  Haynes  was  evidently  of  the  same  opin 
ion.  He  was  now  stroking  his  beard  vigorously,  while 
the  cloud  still  rested  on  his  brow. 

In  a  few  minutes  more,  wagons  and  carriages  came 
clattering  up  to  the  church,  till  there  were  six,  ten, 
fifteen,  yes,  twenty,  waiting  to  receive  their  loads  of 
well-filled  baskets  and  expectant  humanity.  The  en 
terprise  "how  began  to  look  hopeful.  With  a  little 
crowding  these  conveyances  would  satisfy  the  demands 
of  the  occasion.  Otho  Milton,  for  a  brief  time,  stood 
rubbing  his  hands  with  nervous  enthusiasm,  and  then 
joined  Haynes  in  helping  the  children  into  the  vehicles. 
The  cloud  had  entirely  disappeared  from  the  brow  of 
Jacob  Haynes,  and  his  face  had  become  a  broad  ex 
panse  of  smiles.  _  . 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what's  the  matter  with  you,  brother 
Milton."  But  Milton  did  not  have  ears  to  hear — he 
was  too  busy  to  notice  Jacob  Haynes'  jubilant  exclam 
ation.  Still  Haynes  was  not  discouraged.  "Oh,  Mil 
ton!"  lie  cried,  "Milton!  Are  you  deaf?  I  say,  I'll 


THE    PICNIC    AT    BARKER'S    GROVE.  22/ 

tell  you  what's  the  matter  with  you!  You  haven't 
got  enough  faith.  I  knew  this  thing  would  work  out 
all  right.  Did  n't  I  tell  you,  you  could  n't  pick  on  a 
better  time  than  this  for  a  picnic?  Here,  it's  only 
eight,  and  we're  ready  to  start.'' 

"  Why,  bless  me  !  bless  me  !  how  fortunate  !  only 
eight  o'clock,  and  all  ready  to  start !  "  Here  Milton 
paused  to  breathe.  "Ah!  brother, 'I  knew  it  would 
be  all  right  when  I  bore  it  to  the  Lord  on  my  heart ! " 

And  so  happy  were  Milton  and  Haynes  that  they 
shook  hands  like  brothers  after  the  flesh  who  had  been 
separated  for  twenty-five  years. 

Just  as  the  procession  was  about  to  move  forward 
another  buggy  arrived.  It  was  drawn  by  two  prancing 
steeds,  and  contained  a  gallant  attorney  and  a  hand 
some  young  lady.  One  little  rascal  shouted,  ' '  Shoot 
it!  "  before  his  elder  sister  could  clap  her  hand  over  his 
mouth.  Miss  Jennie  Ingleside  said  to  the  girls  who 
sat  beside  her  on  a  rough  pine  board  :  ' '  They  cut  quite 
a  swell,  do  n't  they?"  Her  companion  on  the  right 
answered,  "She  's  awfully  stuck  up  over  it;"  and  'the 
one  on  the  left  remarked  that  she  could  n't  for  the  life 
of  her  tell  what  he  could  see  to  fancy  about  that  An 
derson  girl.  Another  young  woman  "turned  up  her 
nose,"  and  another  snickered.  But  Lyman  Sawthe- 
aire  cared  very  little  for  the  opinion  of  these  young 
misses  as  long  as  Katie  was  at  his  side,  and  he  had  the 
privilege  of  looking  at  her  sweet  face  and  tender  eyes, 
and  indulging  the  desire  that  she  might  not  prove  her 
self  wholly  indifferent  to  his  efforts  to  please  and  en 
tertain.  Nor  was  Katie  at  all  anxious  to  know  what 
commentaries  were  falling  from  the  lips  of  her  associ 
ates.  Her  sole  anxiety  at  present  was  that  she  might 
leave  and  return  to  Wellington  without  the  knowledge 
of  her  lover.'  She  sincerely  hoped  he  would  not  see 
her.  On  this  point  her  mind  would  have  been  at  rest 
if  she  had  known  of  his  trip  this  day  to  Holyterror.  She 
further  hoped  that  he  might  not  even  hear  of  the  picnic 
till  she  should  have  the  opportunity  of  explaining,  to 


228  A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

his  satisfaction,  her  part  in  the  transaction.  She  well 
knew,  by  experience,  what  mountains  could  be  built  up 
out  of  mole-hills  by  the  active  imagination  of  a  lover,  and 
she  did  not  want  William  Manning  to  have  the  slightest 
foundation  for  thinking  her  thoughtless  or  fickle. 

And  now  what  further  occasion  was  there  for  delay  ? 
Why  should  not  the  procession  move  forward  at  once  ? 
The  excursionists  and  baskets  were  all  in  their  places, 
and  the  Sunday-school  banners,  covered  with  much 
good  advice,  were  unfurled  and  floating  on  the  breeze. 
The  delay  arose  from  the  fact  that  brother  Milton  was 
not  yet  in  his  chair  of  state  in  the  first  vehicle,  but  was 
moving  from  wagon  to  carriage  on  his  tour  of  inspec 
tion,  to  see  that  the  children  were  all  in  the  proper 
places,  and  that  the  little  ones  especially  were  properly 
chaperoned. 

"  How  fortunate  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  It  does  seem 
providential !  Room  for  all,  and  none  to  spare  !  I 
do  n't  see  where  I  could  stow  away  even  a  rag  baby, 
and  yet  all  are  comfortable,  all  are  provided  for !  How 
fortunate  !  Oh  dear !  we  '11  soon  be  off,  children,  only 
a  few  minutes  more  of  waiting  and  anxiety.  Let  pa 
tience  have  its  perfect  work.  Oh,  dear  me  !  " 

Milton  applied  his  yellow  silk  handkerchief  to  his 
streaming  face,  and  then  started  from  the  rear  to  the 
van  at  a  brisk  little  trot.  He  clambered  into  his  place, 
and  gave  the  signal  to  start.  Just  then  the  voice  of 
Jacob  Haynes,  who  was  driver  of  the  tenth  vehicle, 
rose  above  and  silenced  all  other  noises,  as  he  shouted  : 

"  Hold  on  there,  Milton  !  I  say,  Milton,  hold  on  ! 
You  have  n't  got  all  your  load.  Here  comes  another 
picnicker." 

Milton  looked  up  the  street  in  the  direction  indi 
cated  by  the  index  ringer  of  Jacob  Haynes,  and  the  reg 
ular  beating  of  his  pulse  instantly  declined  into  a  feeble 
flutter,  as  he  beheld  Elizabeth  Oakford  running  towards 
the  procession,  waving  her  handkerchief  in  the  hope 
of  attracting  some  one's  attention.  Milton  sprang  to 
the  ground,  and  ran  to  meet  Miss  Oakford. 


THE    PICNIC    AT    BARKER'S    GROVE.  22Q 

"Oh,  dear!  oh,  dear!"  he  cried,  wringing  his 
hands  in  great  agony,  while  the  active  little  pores  on 
his  face  and  neck  redoubled  their  activity,  and  compelled 
the  frequent  use  of  the  yellow  silk  handkerchief.  "  Oh, 
dear  me !  what  shall  I  do  ?  Every  seat 's  taken,  and 
here  's  Miss  Oakford  at  the  eleventh  hour.  Oh,  no, 
I  do  n't  mean  that — I  mean  the  eighth  hour.  How  un 
fortunate  !  I  mean  how  fortunate  !  Oh,  yes,  I  know 
now  what  I  mean.  How  unfortunate  we  have  n't  got 
more  seats,  and  yet  how  fortunate  you  've  come.  Oh, 
dear  me !  Lord  deliver  us  from  the  hands  of  the  Am- 
alekites !  Oh,  no !  no !  I  do  n't  mean  that.  I  mean, 
give  us  more  seats.  Oh,  dear  me  !  " 

But  the  anxiety  of  the  superintendent  was  soon  re 
lieved,  and  his  prayer  answered.  Half  a  dozen  young 
men  sprang  to  the  ground,  and  each  of  them  offered  to 
sacrifice  himself  for  her  sake.  But  no,  she  would  not 
be  so  selfish  at  that  hour  as  to  compel  such  a  sacrifice 
— the  young  men  must  retain  their  places  and  go  to 
the  grove,  and  enjoy  themselves  and  help  make  others 
happy  on  this  balmy  June  day. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Sawtheaire,"  she  said  with  a 
smile  and  a  courteous  bow.  "And,  Miss  Katie,  good 
morning  to  you.  You  both  look  happy,  as  you  should, 
and  you  have  a  nice,  wide,  comfortable  phaeton.  It  is 
really  wide  enough  for  three  on  so  short  a  drive." 

"Oh,  Miss  Oakford,  of  course  it  is!"  cried  Katie. 
"We  are  not  crowded  at  all,  and  I'm  sure  we'll  be 
delighted  to  have  you  ride  with  us.  Mr.  Sawtheaire 
will  help  you  in,  I  know." 

"Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Sawtheaire,  as  he  sprang  to 
the  ground  and  assisted  Miss  Oakford  into  the  phaeton. 
He  was  as  calm  as  a  summer  night  on  the  outside,  and 
as  furious  as  a  geyser  within.  His  cogitations  were 
bountifully  interlarded  with  such  words  as  "she-devil," 
"intruder,"  "unmitigated  brass,"  and  "metallic 
cheek."  "She  has  the  assurance  of  the  devil,"  he 
thought.  Possibly  he  was  right,  but  he  should  have 
added:  "She  does  not  use  her  assurance  for  devilish 


53O  A    SUBfLK     ADVERSARY. 

purposes,  but  to  help  the  helpless,  to  save  those  who 
are  in  danger,  and  to  bless  with  unselfish  devotion  even 
the  stranger  within  the  gates." 

No  good  can  result  from  the  concealment  of  the 
truth.  Let  the  reader  know,  then,  that  Elizabeth  had 
not  indulged  the  faintest  intention  of  going  to  Barker's 
Grove  on  this  beautiful  day  till  she  had  happened  to 
espy  Lyman  Sawtheaire  and  Katie  Anderson  dashing 
along  towards  the  church  to  join  the  excursion ;  that 
thereupon  an  intense  and  unaccountable  desire  to  spend 
the  day  in  the  open  air  of  that  sylvan  retreat  had  seized 
her  soul,  and  she  had  run  to  her  boarding-house,  and 
thence  to  the  church,  in  time  to  obtain  a  seat  in  Lyman 
Sawtheaire's  phaeton.  Katie  gave  Elizabeth  a  grate 
ful  look,  in  which  the  lawyer  did  not  join. 

On  the  way  to  the  grove  Mr.  Sawtheaire  seemed  to 
labor  under  some  constraint.  His  volubility  for  once 
was  checked.  He  contented  himself  with  an  occasional 
remark,  while  the  conversation  was  carried  on  princi 
pally  by  the  ladies,  who  seemed  to  be  aggravatingly 
happy.  The  pretty  speeches  the  attorney  had  expected 
to  make,  and  which  had  been  carefully  outlined  for  the 
occasion,  were  effectually  repressed  by  this  audacious 
intruder.  He  planned  a  great  many  schemes  of  venge 
ance  against  the  artful  Elizabeth,  which  invariably 
ended  by  the  transformation  of  that  lady  into  a  certain 
individual  of  the  other  sex  called  William  Manning, 
who  became  at  last  the  mark  for  the  fatal,  vengeful 
blow.  He  considered  Elizabeth  a  mere  tool,  who  was 
suffering  herself  to  be  used  by  his  hated  rival  to  advance 
his  suit  with  Miss  Katie  Anderson. 

It  was  nearly  ten  o'clock  when  the  grove  was  taken 
possession  of  by  the  Sunday-school  army,  and  the  trees 
were  saluted  with  such  whoops  and  yells  as  had  not 
echoed  through  this  "forest  primeval"  since  the  dis 
appearance  of  the  aborigines.  Swings  were  suspended 
from  the  trees  for  the  children,  and  the  teachers  and 
officers  of  the  school  entered  upon  their  arduous  under 
taking  of  swinging  and  otherwise  entertaining  the 


THE    PICNIC    AT    BARKERS    GROVE.  231 

young.  The  forenoon  soon  passed  away ;  and  at  the 
hour  of  twelve  o'clock  the  superintendent  issued  his 
proclamation  for  a  suspension  of  hostilities  at  the 
swings  and  playground,  and  an  active  and  uncompro 
mising  assault  on  the  dinner  baskets.  We  are  concerned 
with  but  one  group,  consisting  of  Messrs.  Sawtheaire 
and  Anderson,  and  Mademoiselles  Oakford,  Ingleside 
and  Anderson,  who  selected  a  nice  green  spot,  shaded 
by  a  monarch  sycamore,  for  their  table,  and  spread 
thereon  a  snowy  white  tablecloth,  and  decorated  the 
tablecloth  with  the  many  good  things  stowed  away  in 
their  baskets  by  careful  and  prudent  mammas.  Around 
this  feast  the  five  named  persons  gathered ;  and  upon- 
the  feast  they  made  an  assault  in  which  no  quarter  was 
given.  After  there  had  been  an  interchange  of  some 
sage  and  valuable  opinions  regarding  the  crops  and  the 
weather,  Lyman  Sawtheaire  looked  across  the  table  at 
Miss  Jennie  Ingleside,  and  turned  the  conversation  into 
another  channel  by  saying : 

"How  are  you  and  Mr.  Manning  getting  along, 
Miss  Jennie  ?  I  'm  surprised  that  he  is  not  tied  to  your 
apron-strings  to-day." 

''Oh,  Mr.  Sawtheaire!  How  can  you  say  such  a 
thing?  I  'm  sure  we  don't  have  very  much  to  do  with 
each  other." 

Here  the  young  lady  assumed  a  very  knowing  ex 
pression,  as  much  as  to  say:  "I  know  a  thing  or  two 
about  Mr.  Manning  of  which  the  community  in  general 
is  wholly  ignorant." 

' '  Now,  Miss  Jennie,  do  n't  deny  it, "  said  Sawtheaire. 
"We  know  around  town  about  how  the  matter  stands." 

"You  naughty  man  !  "  she  said,  coloring.  "There 
is  n't  anything  between  us  at  all. " 

"I  venture  to  say  you  know  where  he  is  at  this 
very  moment,  and  that  you  are  the  only  one  of  our 
party  who  does.  Come,  now,  be  honest.  Don't  be 
ashamed  of  your — well,  shall  I  say  lover?" 

' '  Now,  Mr.  Sawtheaire,  I  '11  get  very  angry  directly, 
and  I  '11  never  speak  to  you  again,  so  I  won't.  "  Here 


232  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

she  laughed  moderately.  "  I  should  think  I  ought  to 
know  where  Mr.  Manning  is,  when  he  went  with  pa  to 
Holyterror  this  morning.  But  that  does  n't  prove  he 
is  a  lover  of  mine,  by  any  means." 

At  this  point  of  the  conversation  four  of  the  group 
certainly  began  to  lose  their  appetites.  James,  who 
remained  wholly  undisturbed,  redoubled  his  attack  upon 
the  dish  of  fried  chicken,  which  seemed  to  be  abandoned 
entirely  to  his  rapacity.  Sawtheaire  moved  about  un 
easily  when  he  learned  that  his  rival  and  the  Squire  had 
gone  to  Holyterror.  Jennie  was  in  a  state  of  fluttering 
hope  over  the  intimation  that  public  opinion  was  link 
ing  her  name  with  Mr.  Manning's.  Elizabeth  was 
intensely  occupied  in  watching  the  effect  of  this  conver 
sation  on  Katie ;  while  poor  Katie's  eyes  were  down 
cast,  and  her  heart  was  in  her  mouth. 

"What  does  he  go  to  see  you  for,  Miss  Jennie?" 
asked  Mr.  Sawtheaire.  "And  what  does  he  write  notes 
to  you  for?  The  affair  really  begins  to  look  serious." 

"  Now,  Mr.  Sawtheaire,  he  never  comes  to  see  me 
at  all;  he  comes  to  see  papa,"  she  continued,  with  a 
toss  of  her  head.  "And  as  for  writing  notes — " 

"Oh,  don't  deny  it,"  said  the  lawyer,  looking  as 
though  he  was  about  to  entrap  an  incorrigible  witness: 

"Well,  suppose  he  does,  then,"  exclaimed  Jennie, 
resignedly.  "There's  no  crime  in  a  few  innocent 
notes,  I  hope."  To  the  latter  proposition  Sawtheaire 
gave  a  laughing  acquiescence. 

At  this  point  Katie  became  very  thirsty,  and  arose 
to  go  to  the  spring  for  a  drink  of  water. 

"Let  me  get  it  for  you,"  begged  Mr.  Sawtheaire. 

"No,  no,"  she  insisted,  and  hastened  away  to  the 
spring,  where  she  laved  her  burning  cheeks  with  the 
cooling  liquid.  "So  William  Manning  has  been  writing 
notes  to  Jennie  Ingleside,  has  he?"  she  thought. 
"Can  it  be  possible  that  he  is,  after  all,  only  a  base 
deceiver  ?  If  he  is,  O  God  !  help  me  !  I  have  trusted 
him  so  much,  and  I  do  love  him  so  much !  Oh,  what 
shall  I  do  ?  " 


THE    PICNIC    AT    BARKER'S    GROVE.  233 

Now  Jennie  Ingleside  had  undertaken  to  deny  that 
she  and  Mr  Manning  had  ever  interchanged  notes, 
when  she  was  interrupted  by  Lyman  Sawtheaire.  Just 
at  that  moment  she  glanced  at  Katie  and  saw  her  ill- 
concealed  agitation,  and  out  of  her  perverseness  of 
disposition  suffered  the  lawyer's  statements  to  pass 
unchallenged. 

When  Katie  returned  to  her  companions  all  traces 
of  her  agitation  were  gone,  and,  with  seeming  noncha 
lance,  she  assisted  Jennie  in  gathering  up  the  frag 
ments  which  remained,  and  packing  them,  with  the 
dishes  and  linen,  in  the  baskets. 

Lyman  Sawtheaire  had  inwardly  resolved  on  seek 
ing  to  entice  Katie  away  from  the  crowd  this  afternoon 
for  a  stroll  along  the  creek,  that  he  might  have  an  op 
portunity  to  delight  her  ear  with  the  pretty  speeches 
which  the  presence  of  Elizabeth  had  prevented  him 
from  making  on  the  way  to  the  grove.  Whether  he 
would  make  an  open  declaration  of  his  love  for  her 
would  depend  on  circumstances,  and  especially  on  the 
manner  in  which  his  introductory  speeches  should  be 
received.  But  at  any  rate  he  would  win  her  attention, 
with  flattering  and  honeyed  words,  and  this  would  help 
him  on  subsequent  occasions ;  for  he  considered  a 
woman's  heart  like  a  fortress  which  might  not  be  taken 
by  the  first  or  second  assault,  but  would  be  weakened 
by  every  assault,  and  prepared  thereby  for  an  inevitable 
capitulation  in  the  course  of  time. 

After  dinner  Katie  and  Elizabeth  walked  leisurely 
about  the  grove,  with  their  arms  around  each  other, 
attended,  of  course,  by  their  dear  friend  Sawtheaire. 
That  gentleman,  ignoring  the  presence  of  Elizabeth,  re 
marked  to  Katie  that  there  were  many  beautiful  peb 
bles  and  shells  along  the  bed  of  the  creek  in  which, 
as  a  student  of  geology,  she  might  be  interested. 
Katie  said  that  she  would  like  to  see  them,  provided  her 
teacher  would  go  with  her  and  show  her  which  speci 
mens  were  worthy  of  preservation.  So  Sawtheaire 
decided  to  separate  the  two  ladies  before  pressing  the 


234  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

matter  of  this  excursion  further,  and  as  a  possible 
means  to  that  end  hastened  away  for  a  short  distance 
to  put  up  a  swing  for  some  children  who  had  been  tug 
ging  at  Elizabeth's  dress  and  begging  her  to  swing  them. 

When  he  returned  to  the  place  where  he  had  left 
the  ladies,  they  were  gone.  He  searched  the  picnic 
grounds  for  them  in  vain,  nor  could  he  gain  any  clear 
information  as  to  the  direction  they  had  taken.  He 
ground  his  teeth  together  in  his  quiet,  determined  way, 
and  swore  to  himself  that  cranky  Bess  was  undoubt 
edly  a  witch,  and  would  have  been  hanged  for  one  had 
she  lived  at  Salem  less  than  two  hundred  years  before. 
He  wandered  hither  and  thither  aimlessly  for  at  least 
two  hours,  at  the  end  of  which  period  Elizabeth  and 
Katie  appeared  in  the  grove  before  him  as  mysterious 
ly  as  they  had  gone,  and  asserted  that  he  was  indeed 
a  chivalrous  man  to  suffer  two  helpless  ladies  to  be  lost 
in  the  woods  and  exposed  to  the  venom  of  the  snake 
and  the  claw  of  the  wild  beast  without  making  any 
effort  to  find  them  and  rescue  them  from  their  peril. 
He  avowed  that  he  considered  the  whole  affair  a  capital 
joke,  and  praised  the  ladies  for  their  bravery,  while  he 
framed  to  himself  this  humble  confession  and  dreadful 
threat:  "That  she-devil  is  too  much  for  me.  I  hate 
her;  but  I  don't  hate  her  as  I  do  the  man  she  is  work 
ing  for.  By  Jove,  cranky  Bess,  every  time  you  serve 
me  a  trick  like  this,  you  drive  a  nail  into  his  coffin  !" 

Where  were  Elizabeth  and  Katie  during  this  seem 
ingly  interminable  period  of  two  hours?  While  Mr. 
Sawtheaire  was  putting  up  the  swing  and  planning  how 
he  would  inveigle  Elizabeth  into  an  afternoon's  pastime 
of  swinging  the  children,  Elizabeth  and  Katie  had 
quietly  left  the  playground  and  strolled  up  the  creek 
till  they  had  come  to  the  mouth  of  one  of  its  tributaries, 
the  channel  of  which  was  almost  dry.  Here  they  rested 
for  a  few  minutes,  after  which  they  followed  the  tributary 
creek  for  at  least  a  quarter  of  a  mile  till  they  came  to 
a  place  where  a  great  outcropping  rock  overhung  the 
sandy  bed  of  the  creek,  and  furnished  a  cool,  shady 


THE    PICNIC    AT    BARKER  S    GROVE.  235 

spot  where  they  might  rest  and  engage  in  a  serious 
conversation  without  fear  of  interruption.  They  had 
gathered  no  pebbles ;  they  had  not  entered  upon  the 
study  of  geology  ;  they  had  come  here  to  exchange 
confidences.  Katie's  heart  was  full,  and  she  felt  at  last 
the  great  need  of  a  sympathetic  heart  to  share  her  joy 
and  help  her  carry  her  sorrow. 

So  here  in  this  wild  place  the  younger  woman  un 
folded  to  her  companion  the  history  of  her  love  affair 
with  William  Manning  ;  of  the  bright,  sunny  day  at 
Mossy  Bank  ;  of  her  father's  opposition  to  her  lover 
and  his  harsh  commands  to  herself;  of  her  enforced 
acceptance  of  Mr.  Sawtheaire's  invitation  to  the  picnic  ; 
of  her  confidence  in  her  lover  until  this  day ;  of  the 
fears  and  heartaches  begotten  by  the  conversation  be 
tween  Jennie  and  Lyman  Sawtheaire  at  dinner.  Eliza 
beth  kissed  away  the  tears  from  the  girl's  face,  and 
whispered  to  her  these  consolatory  words : 

' '  Katie,  I  am  so  happy,  I  can  hardly  find  voice  or 
words  to  express  myself.  My  heart  has  been  set  up 
on  this  match  from  the  beginning  —  it  has  seemed  to 
me  that  you  and  Mr.  Manning  were  intended  for  each 
other.  You  have  both  been  my  dearest  friends,  and  I 
have  lived  in  the  hope  that  you  would  learn  to  love  each 
other.  And  now  I  am  happy  beyond  expression,  for 
all  these  hopes  are  going  to  be  realized.  Do  n't  be 
uneasy,  Katie,  about  your  father's  opposition —  that 
will  give  way  after  a  while.  Let  me  assure  you  that 
William  Manning  is  a  noble  young  man,  and  the  lifting 
of  the  mysteries  which  cover  his  past  life  will  reveal 
nothing  to  his  discredit.  And  as  to  the  insinuations 
made  to-day  by  Lyman  Sawtheaire  and  Jennie  Ingleside 
— do  n't  feel  hurt — do  n't  believe  a  word  they  have 
said,  till  you  hear  your  lover's  explanation.  I  venture 
to  say  he  hasn't  written  a  single  note  to  Jennie.  She 
did  not  admit  he  had.  And  even  if  he  has  written  to 
her,  I  am  sure  he  can  give  a  satisfactory  reason  for  it. 
Trust  your  lover,  Katie.  Your  confidence  will  not  be 
misplaced." 


236  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

How  much  better  Katie  felt  after  she  had  unbur 
dened  her  heart  to  this  faithful  friend !  As  she  left 
this  confessional  with  her  confessor  her  spirits  were 
more  buoyant  than  they  had  been  for  some  time  before. 
Full  of  hope,  she  retraced  her  steps,  and  appeared  ra 
diantly  triumphant  before  the  astonished  Sawtheaire. 

Well,  the  afternoon  wore  away  as  afternoons  will, 
and  the  excursionists  deserted  the  grove  and  returneu 
to  the  city.  Mr.  Sawtheaire  left  Miss  Oakford  at  her 
boarding-house  west  of  the  square,  and  drove  thence 
past  the  square  to  Mr.  Anderson's  residence.  He 
helped  Katie  out  of  the  buggy,  courteously  bade 
her  good  evening,  and  drove  away.  "This  day 
has  been  a  failure,"  he  thought.  "But  it  shall  not 
always  be  so.  I  have  destroyed  Mr.  Anderson's  con 
fidence  in  Manning,  and  now  I  must  destroy  his  daugh 
ter's  confidence  in  the  same  man.  Then  the  way  will 
be  clear,  and  Katie  will  be  my  bonny  bride.  Yes,  my 
dear,  I  '11  triumph  if  you  '11  give  me  time  enough — 
unless  that  she-devil  balks  me."  In  connection  with 
the  last  thought  were  some  mental  ejaculations  wholly 
inconsistent  with  his  calling  of  Sunday-school  teacher. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

ELIZABETH    AS    MEDIATOR. 

The  next  morning,  William  Manning,  fatigued  in 
body,  and  harassed  in  mind,  sat  down  at  his  desk  and 
wrote  Miss  Katie  Anderson  a  letter,  in  which  he  said 
many  harsh  things  of  Lyman  Sawtheaire,  and  insinua 
ted  that  Katie  herself  was  degenerating  into  a  heartless 
flirt.  He  left  the  office,  watched  the  Anderson  premi 
ses  till  he  saw  Katie  leave  home  for  Sunday-school,  and 
then  hastened  forward  to  meet  her  and  deliver  his 
tender  epistle.  How  charming  she  looked  in  her 
pure,  white  dress,  with  the  lilies  and  roses  striving  for 
supremacy  on  her  cheek,  and  the  tender  love-light 
beaming  from  her  eye  !  After  he  had  given  her  his 
cruel  letter,  what  a  wall  of  separation  seemed  to  arise 
between  them  !  He  went  to  his  boarding-house,  and 
Katie  returned  home,  perhaps  for  a  song  book  she  had 
forgotten,  perhaps  to  read  her  lover's  words. 

At  eleven  o'clock  he  went  to  church,  not  to  his 
own,  but  to  Katie's  church,  that  he  might  hear  the 
Gospel  perhaps,  but  more  especially  that  he  might  see 
Katie,  and  hear  her  sing,  and  read  in  her  face  the  story 
of  her  joy  or  misery,  as  the  case  might  be.  Yes,  she 
was  there,  and  sang  sweetly ;  but  she  hardly  looked  at 
him.  He  thought  her  face  a  trifle  more  serious  than 
usual,  and  even  fancied  that  he  saw  evidence  of  suffer 
ing  there.  However  that  might  be,  she  was  not  agitated 
or  restless,  but  gave  her  mind  and  heart  seemingly  to 
her  worship.  When  the  services  were  over,  she  left 
the  house  without  so  much  as  passing  near  or  speaking 
to  him. 

Manning  had  not  received  a  single  soul-elevating 
impression.  The  reading  and  the  prayer  and  the  ser 
mon  had  been  but  as  so  much  jargon,  as  far  as  he  was 

concerned.    The  text  might  have  been  from  Genesis  or 

237 


238  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

Habakkuk  or  Revelation,  or  from  neither,  for  anything 
he  remembered  to  the  contrary.  He  left  the  divine 
tabernacle  with  a  feeling  of  rancor  against  the  whole 
human  family,  and  wore  the  day  away  in  nursing  his 
bitter  and  uncharitable  feelings. 

Katie,  indeed,  felt  a  sudden  pain  when  she  saw  Mr. 
Manning  enter  the  church  ;  but  she  compressed  her  lips, 
and  vowed  she  would  not  yield  till  he  should  come  to 
her  in  penitence  and  confession.  She  sang  and  worshiped 
with  assumed  indifference  to  worldly  affairs,  and  went 
home  without  bestowing  upon  William  Manning  a  smile 
or  nod.  No  sooner  was  she  out  of  the  church,  however, 
than  she  began  to  think  that  he  had  doubly  wronged 
her  and  trifled  with  her  affections.  If  he  really  loved 
her,  would  he  not  have  sought  her  out — have  made 
some  earnest  effort  to  meet  her  and  speak  to  her  as  she 
was  leaving  the  church  ?  She  ignored  what  she  assur 
edly  did  know,  that  he  had  come  expressly  to  see  her, 
for  he  was  not  in  the  habit  of  attending  that  place  of 
worship ;  she  forgot  that  his  eyes  were  turned  to  her 
face  with  many  a  longing  look  during  the  service,  while 
she  sat  motionless,  with  averted  eyes,  as  if  wholly  un 
mindful  of  his  presence  ;  she  forgot  that  he  stood  by 
the  aisle  by  which  she  would  probably  have  left  the 
church,  waiting  to  speak  to  her,  while  she  perversely 
went  around  another  way  to  avoid  speaking  to  him,  and 
nodded  courteously  to  Mr.  Sawtheaire  as  she  passed  him 
on  the  other  side  of  the  church.  Forgetting  or  ignor 
ing  all  these  facts,  she  now,  in  her  thoughts,  charged 
her  lover  with  the  responsibility  for  all  their  differences, 
for  their  impending  alienation,  and  went  home  in  a  very 
unworshipful  state  of  mind. 

During  the  afternoon  she  went  to  her  room  and 
thought  seriously  of  the  situation.  Time  is  certainly  a 
great  arbitrator,  and  time  was  even  now  beginning  to 
exert  a  mellowing  influence  on  this  grievously  wronged 
young  woman.  A  self-accusing  thought — a  mere  men 
tal  hint  that  she  might  not  be  altogether  blameless — 
rose  now  and  again  to  the  surface  through  a  great  con- 


ELIZABETH    AS    MEDIATOR.  239 

fusion  of  other  thoughts.  Pride  began  to  decline,  and 
love  became  the  ascendant  star.  Still  her  feelings  were 
hostile,  and  she  wrote  an  unkind  letter  severing  their 
engagement.  She  read  it  over,  and  then  cried  at  the 
thought  of  such  a  catastrophe.  She  went  to  her  bureau 
for  a  moment,  and  there  her  eyes  fell  upon  a  most 
flattering  photograph  of  Jennie  Ingleside,  which  that 
fair  young  charmer  had  given  her  a  short  time  before ; 
and  then  she  remembered  the  scene  at  the  Squire's 
when  she  had  found  Jennie  and  Mr.  Manning  together 
in  the  parlor,  and  also  the  conversation  at  the  picnic 
between  Jennie  and  Mr.  Sawtheaire ;  and  a  little  pang 
of  jealousy  disturbed  her  heart  as  the  image  of  Jennie 
rose  up  before  her,  menacing  her  happiness,  and  carry 
ing  off  the  prize.  So  she  tore  up  the  letter  she  had 
written,  and  then  tore  every  piece  into  still  smaller 
pieces,  and  so  on,  till  the  mutilation  was  so  complete 
that  the  most  accomplished  expert  could  scarcely  have 
restored  a  single  sentence ;  and  lest,  by  some  inexpli 
cable  ppocess,  such  a  restoration  might  be  possible,  she 
carefully  saved  the  pieces,  with  other  waste  paper,  for 
the  kitchen  fire  that  evening. 

She  wrote  again,  this  time  in  a  more  conciliatory 
tone.  Still  she  was  dissatisfied,  and  this  letter  shared 
the  fate  of  its  predecessor . 

She  began  again,  but  had  only  written  the  place 
and  date  when  a  light''  step  on  the  stairway  startled 
her,  and  she  hastily  concealed  Mr.  Manning's  letter. 
Then  came  a  light  knock  at  the  door,  and  in  a  moment 
afterwards  Katie  and  Elizabeth  were  in  each  other's 
arms. 

"I  must  talk  rapidly  and  to  the  point,"  said  Eliza 
beth,  "for  I  must  go  to  see  poor  Mrs.  Jimson  this 
afternoon.  You  know  she  is  prostrated  in  bed."  Katie 
said  she  did  not  know  it.  ''Yes,"  continued  Eliza 
beth,  "her  husband,  while  in  a  drunken  frenzy  yester 
day,  whipped  her  brutally,  and  the  authorities  are 
going  to  have  him  arrested  for  it.  But  arresting  him 
will  not  help  her,  so  we  temperance  women  are  trying 


24O  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

to  take  care  of  her.      Now  you  will  understand  why  I 
am  in  such  a  hurry." 

"You  are  a  dear,  good  woman,"  said  Katie,  rap 
turously.  And  then,  she  kissed  Elizabeth,  and  Elizabeth 
felt  herself  more  than  repaid  for  all  her  labors  of  love  in 
Katie's  behalf. 

"  Katie,"  began  Elizabeth,  abruptly,  "what  is  the 
matter  with  you  and  Mr.  Manning?-  Do  you  know 
that  you  are  both  acting  like  simpletons?  " 

Katie  hardly  knew  how  to  respond  to  these  plain, 
unvarnished  questions.  She  came  near  being  offended  ; 
but  when  she  looked  into  her  companion's  strong, 
earnest,  searching  eyes,  her  spirit  weakened  before  the 
superior  power  of  her  friend,  and  she  asked  meekly : 

"What  do  you  mean,  Miss  Oakford  ?" 

"Let  me  explain  what  I  mean.  I  was  at  church 
this  morning,  and  saw  Mr.  Manning  there.  Do  you 
know  why  Mr.  Manning  was  at  your  church?  Not 
because  he  was  particularly  in  love  with  your  pastor's 
creed,  or  enthusiastic  over  his  dull  preaching — he  was 
there  to  see  you.  His  eyes  burned  with  love  as  he 
fastened  ^them  upon  you,  but  you  turned  your  face 
away  and  would  not  so  much  as  look  at  him.  After 
the  services  he  stood  in  the  aisle  waiting  to  speak  to 
you,  and  you  went  out  of  your  way  to  avoid  him,  and 
then,  to  do  him  the  greater  indignity,  made  a  courteous 
bow  to  Mr.  Sawtheaire  as  you  passed  him  on  the  other 
side  of  the  church.  You  made  your  lover  miserable, 
and  I  undertake  to  say  you  made  yourself  miserable. 
What  do  you  mean  by  such  conduct?" 

"If  you  had  read  his  letter  to  me,  Miss  Oakford, 
you  would  not  be  so  severe,"  pleaded  Katie. 

"Let  me  see  the  letter." 

Katie  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then  brought  the 
letter. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Elizabeth,  as  she  looked  up  from 
the  perusal  of  the  letter,  "I'm  ashamed  of  Mr.  Man 
ning  !  Yes,  yes,  I  'm  ashamed  of  the  jealous  baby ; 
and  he  ought  to  be  forever  ashamed  of  himself!  So, 


ELIZABETH    AS    MEDIATOR.  241 

Katie,  you  became  angry  because  your  lover  feared  you 
might  be  playing  the  flirt?  Such  insinuations  are  very 
unkind,  and  /  know  that  they  are  utterly  false,  and 
what  is  more,  I  propose  to  tell  Mr.  Manning  so.  But 
one  thing  is  certain  from  an  unbiased  perusal  of  this 
letter — absolutely  certain — and  I  fear  you  do  not  appre 
ciate  it." 

"What  is  that,  Miss  Oakford?" 

' '  He  l(n>es  you. 

Katie  could  not  deny  the  assertion.  Miss  Oakford 
ntinued  :  "  He  loves  you, and  you  know  it,and  yet  you 
are  willing  to  increase  the  breach  between  you  by  cold 
ness  and  neglect,  when  you  yourself  are  almost  dying 
of  love  for  him.  How  foolish  this  is,  Katie.  How  would 
you  like  to  see  him  set  his  heart  upon  some  other  girl, 
Jennie  Ingleside,  for  example?  Would  that  be  very 
pleasant?  Would  that  make  my  proud  little  Katie 
unutterably  happy?  Not  if  those  tear-marks  on  your 
face  speak  the  truth,  and  I  am  sure  they  do.  Now, 
Katie,  I  have  but  a  few  more  minutes  to  stay,  so  you 
must  sit  down  and  write  Mr.  Manning  a  note  (that  is 
all  I  can  wait  for),  and  tell  him  you  love  him,  and  are 
sorry  if  you  have  wounded  his  feelings.  Yes,  you 
must,"  she  insisted,  as  Katie  looked  poutingly  at  the 
floor;  "you  must,  or  I'll  never  forgive  you.  And 
when  you  have  written  that  much,  I  have  something 
more  for  you  to  write." 

After  a  little  more  urging,  Katie  did  as  she  was 
commanded,  and  then,  with  a  mischievous  twinkle  in 
her  eyes,  and  a  bewitching  little  smile  playing  at  hide- 
and-seek  around  her  mouth,  requested  Elizabeth  to 
dictate  the  remainder  of  the  letter. 

"You  are  going  visiting  to-morrow  afternoon?" 
inquired  Elizabeth. 

"  Yes,"  said  Katie,  in  surprise. 

"  And  will  be  gone  till  Thursday?" 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so. " 

"  You  are  going  ten  miles  into  the  country  to  see 
your  dear  friend,  Miss  Nellie  Murphy?" 


242  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY, 

"Why,  Miss  Oakford,  who  told  you,  I  would  like 
to  know  ?" 

"Your  mother,  of  course.  I  chatted  with  her 
awhile  before  I  came  up  to  your  room.  And  now, 
Katie,  can  you  not  finish  your  own  letter?" 

"I  suppose  I  can  write,  'Yours  lovingly,'  and  sign 
my  name,  if  that  will  meet  my  censor's  approbation." 

Katie  was  already  beginning  to  feel  as  if  the  greater 
part  of  her  burden  had  been  rolled  away  from  her 
heart. 

"I  wonder  if  I  would  be  so  silly  and  stupid  if  I 
were  in  love, "said  Elizabeth.  "  But  my  time  is  nearly 
up,  and  you  must  now  write  according  to  my  dictation. 
Please  conclude  your  letter  as  follows :  '  I  am  going 
to-morrow  afternoon  to  visit  Nellie  Murphy,  an  old 
friend  of  mine,  who  lives  near  our  old  home,  and  do 
not  expect  to  return  till  Thursday.  I  know  it  is  asking 
a  great  deal,  but  I  want  you  to  come  there  to  see  me 
on  Tuesday  or  Wednesday,  without  fail."  ' 

When  Elizabeth  dictated  the  last  sentence,  Katie's 
heart  gave  a  great  jump.  She  dropped  her  pen  on  the 
note  she  had  written,  and  shook  off  one  full  drop  of 
ink  and  a  number  of  little  splashes  on  some  of  the 
principal  words.  And  then  she  jumped  up  from  the 
table  where  she  was  writing  and  threw  herself  into 
Elizabeth's  lap,  and  hugged  and  kissed  her  friend  de 
lightedly.  She  insisted  on  rewriting  the  note,  for  she 
could  not  consent  to  send  that  blotted  piece  of  paper 
to  her  lover. 

"No,"  said  Elizabeth,  finish  the  note  immediately, 
for  I  am  going  to  be  your  mail-carrier,  and  dare  not 
delay  longer." 

Katie  obeyed ;  and  when  Elizabeth,  armed  with 
this  note  for  a  vigorous  assault  on  William  Manning, 
passed  out  of  sight  of  the  Anderson  premises,  the  wind 
bore  to  her  delighted  ears  a  strain  of  joyful  music  from 
the  lips  of  Katie  Anderson. 

About  ten  minutes  afterwards,  Elizabeth  sat  in 
the  parlor-of  Mr.  Manning's  boarding-house,  waiting 


ELIZABETH    AS    MEDIATOR.  243 

for  that  gentleman  to  arrange  his  disordered  toilet 
before  responding  to  her  desire  to  see  him  privately  for 
a  few  minutes.  The  landlady  came  into  the  parlor 
about  the  same  time  Mr.  Manning  did,  and  would  have 
remained,  for  she  was  particularly  fond  of  knowing 
what  was  going  on,  had  not  Elizabeth,  with  her  char 
acteristic  straightforwardness,  dashed  that  lady's  hopes 
to  the  floor  or  somewhere  else,  by  remarking  that  she 
desired  to  speak  to  Mr.  Manning  privately.  At  this 
the  landlady  bounced  out  of  the  room,  and  informed 
the  cook  that  Miss  Oakford  was  "tolable  forrid,"  in  her 
opinion,  to  order  a  woman  out  of  her  own  parlor ; 
whereupon  the  cook  added  that  there  was  no  ' '  with- 
standin'  on  her,"  and  that  a  "tarenado  could  n't  make 
no  headway  agin  her." 

"Mr.  Manning,"  said  Elizabeth,  when  the  landlady 
was  clearly  beyond  the  range  of  her  words,  "I  have 
read  your  letter  to  Katie,  and  let  me  tell  you  I  con 
sider  it  a  most  unkind  and  ungenerous  letter,  and 
utterly  unworthy  of  you.  You  have  nearly  broken 
Katie's  heart."  . 

"I  suppose  not,"  he  said,  with  a  slight  indication 
of  sarcasm  in  his  tones  and  inflections.  "I  saw  her  at 
church  this  morning,  and  think  she  was  far  from  suffer 
ing  her  heart  to  break  on  my  account.  She  took  not 
so  much  notice  of  me  as  she  would  of  a  dog — I  '11  say 
more  ;  I  '11  say,  as  she  did  of  a  dog,  a  whining,  cowardly 
cur." 

It  was  evident  that  Manning  was  in  a  very  bad 
mood. 

"I  came  to  bring  you  a  letter  from  Katie,"  said 
Elizabeth.  ' '  But  I  can  not  remain  in  the  presence  of 
a  man  who  shows  by  his  language  that  he  forgets  he 
is  addressing  a  lady." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Oakford — a  thousand 
times,"  he  said,  deferentially.  "Please  accept  my 
sincere  apology.  Let  me  plead  in  extenuation  the 
many  wrongs  Lyman  Sawtheaire  has  done  me.  I  can 
hardly  think  of  him  without  becoming  furious." 


244  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"Your  apology  is  accepted, "  said  Elizabeth,  with 
dignity.  "  And  now  let  me  assure  you  that  in  a  fit  of 
jealousy  you  have  misjudged  the  dearest,  truest  girl  I 
have  ever  known.  She  went  to  this  picnic  against  her 
will.  You  might  have  known  this,  if  you  had  taken 
the  pains  to  inquire  of  her  or  me.  Her  father  forced 
her  to  go  with  Mr.  Sawtheaire  He  struck  her  in  the 
face,  and  then,  and  not  till  then,  did  she  write  an  ac 
ceptance  of  Mr.  Sawtheaire's  invitation.  Poor  child  ! 
she  has  had  trials  enough  without  the  additional  trial 
of  your  cold,  unfeeling  letter.  It  is  a  wonder  to  me 
that  she  can  ever  forgive  you." 

"Elizabeth,"  he  said  huskily,  leaning  forward  in 
his  eagerness,  ' '  give  me  her  letter.  Please,  please 
give  it  to  me." 

"Not  yet,"  she  said.  "  You  shall  not  have  it  till 
you  are  truly  repentant.  Let  me  tell  you  that  Katie 
unbosomed  herself  to  me  on  Saturday,  and  I  know  much 
of  the  love  affair  between  you  and  her ;  and  I  think  it 
a  shame  that  you  should  write  to  her  such  unjust  ac 
cusations.  Poor,  dear,  suffering  heart  J  /  know  how 
cruelly  your  words  have  wounded  her." 

"Do  you  tell  me,  Elizabeth,  that  her  father  struck 
her,  and  compelled  her  to  go  with  Mr.  Sawtheaire ; 
that  she  went  only  because  of  her  father's  compul 
sion?" 

"I  tell  you  more.  I  tell  you  that  the  only  mo 
ments  when  she  was  alone  with  Mr.  Sawtheaire  were 
when  he  drove  to  the  church  in  the  morning  and  from 
my  boarding-house  to  her  home  in  the  evening.  I 
rode  with  them  to  the  grove  ;  I  rode  with  them  back  to 
the  city.  I  was  with  her  during  the  entire  day.  For 
two  hours  in  the  afternoon  we  were  alone  together  in 
the  forest,  while  she  talked  of  you  and  her  love  for 
you — ever  and  only  of  you  and  her  true  love.  And 
this  is  the  dear,  true  heart  you  have  called  a  flirt,  and 
upbraided  with  cruel  and  false  accusations. "  The  words 
cruel  and  false  were  spoken  with  marked  emphasis.  She 
cut  deep,  but  no  deeper  than  she  intended.  William 


ELIZABETH    AS    MEDIATOR.  24$ 

Manning  felt  the  full  force  of  her  words,  and  began  to 
realize  how  foolishly  he  had  demeaned  himself. 

"Where  can  I  see  her?  I  must  see  her,"  he  said. 
Elizabeth  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  he  paused 
and  became  calmer. 

"Go,  write  Katie  a  note,"  she  said  gently,  "and 
beg  her  forgiveness,  and  then  you  shall  know  when  and 
where  you  may  see  her." 

He  went  to  his  room,  and  returned  in  a  few  min 
utes  with  his  letter. 

' '  Let   me    deliver   your    letter, "    Elizabeth    said. 
"  Katie  shall  have  it  to-night.      And  now  here  is  her 
letter.     Read  it,  and  be  happy ;  but  hearken,  first,  to 
my  parting  lecture.     You  are  a  noble  young  man,  and 
all  that  ;  but  I  have  somewhat  against  you.     Your  be 
setting  sins  are  temper  and  jealousy.     You  must  learn 
to  control  your  temper,  and  you  must  exorcise  the  de 
mon  of  jealousy,   which  has  already  made  so    much 
trouble  for  you  and  Katie,  and  which,  if  tolerated  at 
all,   will    make   you    both    miserable   for   all   time    to 
come." 

She  gave  him  her  hand  as  she  left  the  boarding- 
house.  She  then  repaired  to  Jimsqn's  humble  home  to 
minister  to  the  wants  of  the  drunkard's  wife,  and 
closed  her  afternoon's  labor  by  delivering  Mr.  Man 
ning's  note. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

NEARING    THE    SHADOW. 

At  two  o'clock  on  Wednesday  afternoon  Katie  and 
her  friend  Nellie  Murphy  were  seated  under  an  old 
apple  tree  in  Mr.  Murphy's  yard,  engaged  in  gaily  re 
viewing  many  of  the  happy  events  of  their  past  life. 
Nellie  was  wholly  free  from  care,  for  she  had  never 
tasted  the  luxurious  sadness  of  being  seriously  in  love. 
Katie  was  nervous  and  restless  to  a  marked  degree,  for 
she  was  indeed  seriously  in  love,  and  deeply  grieved 
because  of  the  dilatoriness  or  utter  forgetfulness  of  her 
lover.  She  had  invited  William  Manning  to  come  to 
see  her  on  Tuesday  or  Wednesday,  and  had  thought 
that  he  would  surely  come  on  Tuesday,  urged  by  in 
tense  desire  to  see  her  at  the  earliest  opportunity. 
But  she  had  been  disappointed.  The  day  had  faded 
away,  and  her  gallant  sweetheart  had  not  made  his 
appearance  at  Mr.  Murphy's  premises.  Of  course  she 
had  cried  for  a  while  that  night,  and  had  then  dashed 
her  tears  away  with  an  impatient  movement  of  the 
hand,  and  the  brave  reflection  that  if  Mr.  Manning  was 
indifferent  to  her,  she  wanted  all  the  world  to  know 
that  she  was  equally  indifferent  to  him.  As  a  proof  of 
her  indifference,  after  Nellie  had  fallen  into  a  deep, 
peaceful  sleep,  Katie  had  arisen  and  quietly  lighted 
the  lamp,  and  had  then  opened  the  letter  Elizabeth  had 
brought  her  Sunday  evening,  and  read  it  over  slowly 
for  some  six  or  eight  times  in  succession,  dwelling  at 
great  length  on  all  underscored  passages,  which  were 
supposed  to  contain  the  quintessence  of  all  these  sac 
charine  sentences.  She  had  felt  consoled  by  this 
midnight  sipping  of  sweets,  and  had  extinguished  the 
light,  and  retired  to  rest  with  a  firm  conviction  that  she 
would  behold  her  beloved  William  before  sunset  of 

the  coming  day. 

246 


HEARING  THE  SHADOW.  247 

She  had  been  sleeping  soundly  the  next  morning 
when  she  became  dimly  conscious  that  some  direful 
punishment  was  being  administered  to  her — as,  for  in 
stance,  that  she  was  being  passed  through  a  threshing 
machine.  As  her  awakening  faculties  became  fully 
aroused,  she  ascertained  that  the  dreadful  feeling  she 
had  just  experienced  was  attributable  to  the  churning 
process  by  which  Nellie  had  been  trying  to  convince, 
her  that  breakfast  was  almost  ready.  Her  first  impres 
sion  on  awakening  was  a  feeling  of  despair;  her  next, 
of  hope.  Buoyant  as  the  dawning  day,  she  sprang 
from  her  couch.  "I'll  certainly  see  him  before 
night,"  she  thought;  and  in  this  hope  she  lived  and 
moved  till  two  o-clock  in  the  afternoon. 

"Why,  Katie,  what  is  the  matter?  Are  you  look 
ing  for  a  beau?"  asked  Nellie,  whose  attention  had 
been  attracted  by  the  frequency  with  which  Katie  had 
been  compelled  to  rise  and  adjust  her  clothes,  and  the 
further  fact  that  on  each  of  these  occasions  Katie  had 
cast  a  hasty  and  anxious  glance  in  the  direction  of  the 
city  of  Wellington. 

"I  would  like  to  see  a  beau,  of  course,"  she  an 
swered. 

"  Well,  then,  yonder  he  comes, "  replied  Nellie. 

Sure  enough,  a  cloud  of  dust  up  the  road  indicated 
the  approach  of  some  sort  of  a  vehick.  Presently  out 
of  the  cloud  emerged  horses,  buggy  and  driver. 

"Why,  that  is  Mr.  Manning!"  said  Nellie,  in  a 
stage  whisper ;  and  as  the  horses  were  turned  in  to  the 
fence,  and  the  driver  jumped  from  the  buggy,  these 
two  artless  children  began  to  brush  their  stray  hairs 
away  from  their  faces,  and  to  fuss  with  divers  ribbons, 
and  to  put  on  an  expression  of  angelic  sweetness, 
which,  by  the  way,  was  on  their  faces  already  to  a  dis 
tressing  degree,  and  really  needed  no  heightening. 

"  I  believe  I  '11  run,"  said  Nellie.  "  I  'm  a  perfect 
fright." 

"Oh,  no,  you  mustn't,"  said  Katie,  seizing  Nellie 
by  the  sleeve,  and  detaining  the  passive  creature  with- 


248  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

out  the  slightest  effort.  "  If  you  do,  I  '11  never  forgive 
you."  Yes,  that  was  what  Katie  said — her  exact 
words.  And  yet  it  is  tolerably  certain  that  Katie  was 
thinking  all  the  time  that  if  Nellie  did  not  run  she 
would  never  forgive  her. 

Mr.  Manning  walked  in  a  straight  course  to  the  apple 
tree,  where  the  two  quaking  beauties  stood,  and  lifted 
,  his  hat  and  asked  if  he  could  have  a  drink  of  water. 
Oh,  the  duplicity  of  man  !  And  then  he  suddenly  rec 
ognized  Katie  Anderson.  Oh,  what  keenness  of 
vision  !  And  then  with  charming  simplicity,  he  said  : 

"Why,  Miss  Katie!  Bless  me!  What  are  you 
doing  here?" 

Forgetting  all  about  his  intolerable  thirst,  he  joined 
the  young  ladies  under  the  apple  tree,  flung  his  hat  on 
the  ground,  and  entered  into  a  spirited  conversation 
with  them.  Nellie's  impulse  to  run  gave  place  to  a 
brave  resolution  to  remain.  She  probably  enjoyed  the 
situation  more .  than  Katie,  and  had  not  the  slightest 
intimation  of  Katie's  eagerness  to  be  left  alone  with 
Mr.  Manning.  Fortunately  for  the  lovers,  however, 
as  the  clock  indicated  the  hour  of  four,  Nellie  was 
summoned  to  the  house  to  assist  her  mother  in  the 
evening  meal ;  for  this  was  the  busy  season  of  the 
year  with  farmers,  and  a*  bountiful  table  was  required 
to  satisfy  the  demands  of  their  enormous  appetites. 
As  soon  as  Nellie  was  gone,  Mr.  Manning  proposed  a 
buggy  ride,  and  Katie  accepted  the  invitation,  running 
to  the  house  to  get  her  hat,  and  telling  Mrs.  Murphy 
she  would  be  back  by  six  o'clock. 

"Get  him  a  drink,  Katie.  He's  thirsty /"  said 
Nellie. 

"Take  a  wrap,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Murphy. 

But  Katie  did  neither.  She  thought  Mr.  Manning 
was  able  to  wait  on  himself,  and  that  she  could  cer 
tainly  rely  on  him  to  shield  her  from  the  cold. 

Mr.  Manning  drove  towards  the  south,  as  he  cer 
tainly  could  have  no  good  reason  for  driving  in  the 
direction  of  Wellington.  "The  farther  away  from 


NEARING   THE    SHADOW.  249 

Wellington,  the  better  !"  he  thought.  Then  he  began 
a  long  and  earnest  conversation  with  Katie.  He  told 
her  how  he  had  come  to  write  that  letter  which  had 
seemed  unkind  and  offensive,  and  insisted  that  it  was 
the  ardor  of  his  love  which  had  caused  him  to  judge 
her  harshly  for  going  to  Barker's  Grove  with  his  rival. 
He  begged  her  forgiveness,  and  she  granted  him  ple 
nary  and  eternal  absolution.  Then  she,  on  her  part, 
explained  why  she  had  gone  to  the  picnic  with  Mr. 
Sawtheaire,  and  related  unreservedly  all  that  had  oc 
curred  during  the  day.  She  craved  his  forgiveness 
for  her  coldness  and  perverseness  on  Sunday,  and 
absolution  was  granted,  and  that  fact  duly  attested 
in  the  customary  manner.  Conversing  thus,  and  thus 
condoning  each  other's  offenses,  they  drove  slowly 
along. 

It  was  one  of  those  rare  days  in  June,  of  which 
Lowell  has  sung : 

i 

"  Now  is  the  hightide  of  the  year, 

And  whatever  of  life  hath  ebbed  away 
Comes  flooding  back  with  a  ripply  cheer 

Into  every  inlet  and  creek  and  bay  ; 
Now  the  heart  is  so  full  that  a  drop  o'erfills  it, 
We  are  happy  now  because  God  wills  it ; 
No  matter  how  barren  the  past  may  have  been, 
'T  is  enough  for  us  now  that  the  leaves  are  green  ; 
We  sit  in  the  warm  shade,  and  feel  right  well 
How  the  sap  creeps  up  and  the  blossoms  swell ; 
We  may  shut  our  eyes,  but  we  can  not  help  knowing 
That  skies  are  clear  and  grass  is  growing." 

And  so  the  two  lovers  were  happy.  Reconciliation 
had  been  effected  once  more.  The  morrow  might 
bring  stormy  skies  and  the  eclipse  of  their  joy;  but 
they  thought  not  of  the  morrow ;  it  was  enough  to 
bask  in  the  brightness  of  the  present.  Every  whisper 
ing  breeze  and  soaring  bird  and  sweet  wild  flower  but 
contributed  to  augment  their  happiness,  and  to  make 
this  afternoon  one  never  to  be  forgotten — the  "one 
bright  day  "at  the  beginning  of  the  "long  week  of 
rain. " 


250  A   SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"Katie,"  said  Mr.  Manning,  after  they  had  driven 
along  in  silence  for  a  few  blissful  minutes,  "ours  is 
surely  true  love,  for  it  does  not  run  smooth.  We  have 
had  a  great  deal  of  trouble  already ;  and  for  all  that  I 
can  see,  there  is  trouble  in  store  for  us  for  a  long  time 
to  come.  I  've  tried  to  lay  my  plans  so  as  to  hasten 
the  time  of  our  marriage,  but  haven't  had  any  sort  of 
success  thus  far.  If  I  fail  to  get  the  nomination — and 
I  do  n't  flatter  myself;  I  think  the  chances  are  against 
me — it  will  be  several  years  before  I  can  undertake  to 
support  a  wife.  Gaining  a  foothold  in  my  profession  is 
slow  work  for  a  young  man,  unless  he  gives  away  his 
services,  and  that  I  am  too  proud  to  do." 

"  But  I  can  wait  for  you,"  she  answered  confidingly. 

"How  long,  if  necessity  required  long  waiting?" 

"Why,  I  love  you,  and  you  only,  and  never  intend 
to  love  another,  and  so  I  can  be  content  to  wait  faith 
fully  for  you  a  long  time  —  five,  ten,  fifteen,  twenty 
years,  perhaps  —  of  course  if  it  should  be  necessary. 
Do  you  think  you  might  be  able  'to  support  a  wife  in 
twenty  years?" 

"Don't  treat  the  subject  in  this  .light,  ridiculous 
manner." 

' '  I  think  it  deserves  such  treatment  —  that  is,  as 
stated  by  you.  Support  a  wife  !  Is  that  all  a  wife  is 
for — to  be  supported,  as  though  you  were  keeping  a 
fine  piece  of  statuary  or  a  famous  painting  for  show  ? 
(Not  meaning,  Mr.  Manning,  that  I  am  fine  or  famous.) 
I  think,  sir,  you  will  have  to  amend  your  views  on  the 
subject  of  matrimony.  It  is  certainly  too  soon  for  you 
to  marry — you  are  too  simple  yet  to  undertake  to  sup 
port  a  wife." 

Mr.  Manning  laughed.  "But  a  wife  does  have 
to  be  supported,  Katie.  She  can 't  live  on  love  or 
moonshine  alone." 

"I  know  some  wives  who  support  their  husbands," 
she  said.  "  Now  wouldn't  it  be  well  to  find  the  gold 
en  mean?  Don't  you  think  we  could  support  each 
other  ?  Do  n't  you  think  we  could  live  within  your 


HEARING    THE    SHADOW.  2$  I 

income,  and  that  I  could  help  you  instead  of  hindering 
you  ?  I  know  we  could  get  along  in  some  way,  and 
am  not  at  all  distressed  over  this  '  insuperable  obsta 
cle. '  /could  live  on  a  crust;  and  if  that  was  the  only 
trouble  ahead  of  us,  would  feel  entirely  at  ease.  But 
there  is  one  obstacle  in  the  way  of  our  marriage  that 
is  worth  talking  about,  and  that  is  father's  hatred  of 
you." 

"Is  it  as  bad  as  that,  Katie  ?  Do  you  mean  hatred? 
I  had  not  thought  his  indifference  had  gone  to  that 
extent." 

"  It  is  just  as  well  for  me  to  be  frank  with  you, 
and  for  that  reason  I  tell  you  father  hates  you.  At 
first  he  liked  you  well  enough,  and  seemed  pleased 
with  your  visits  to  the  family  and  your  attentions  to 
me.  Then  his  feeling  for  you  began  to  grow  cold  ;  he 
spoke  of  you  very  icily,  and  disliked  to  hear  you 
praised,  and  even  showed  impatience  if  reference  was 
made  to  what  you  had  done  for  me.  And  at  last  he 
has  come  to  dislike  you,  to  hate  you.  He  will  not  tol 
erate  a  kind  word  concerning  you,  and  in  our  home 
your  name  is  rarely  ever  mentioned  in  his  presence." 

"  Sawtheaire,  with  the  help  of  Trinkenviellager  and 
his  tribe,  is  responsible  for  all  this,"  said  Manning  with 
ill-suppressed  feeling.  "That  man  is  a  desperate  vil 
lain — a  smooth-faced,  specious-spoken  villain.  He  is 
working  on  your  father  in  the  hope  that  he  may  turn 
your  heart  away  from  me.  / — hate — him!" 

"That  is  hardly  a  Christian   spirit,  Mr.  Manning." 

"I  know  it — I  know  it!"  he  exclaimed.  "Some 
times  I  fear  that,  in  a  moment  of  passion,  I  may  do 
him  violence.  Lord  help  me  to  control  my  temper ! 
But  I  know  he  is  responsible  for  your  father's  hatred 
of  me — I  know  he  has  slandered  me  and  done  me  the 
foulest  injustice.  I  'd  be  a  man  of  mean  spirit  indeed, 
if  I  did  not  resent  his  injuries." 

"You  must  control  your  temper,  Mr.  Manning. 
Mr.  Sawtheaire  will  be  found  out  after  awhile,  and  then 
you  will  have  your  triumph,  and  no  blood  will  be  upon 


252  A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

your  hands.  But  father  is  doing  all  he  can  to  beat  you 
in  the  convention.  He  says  it  is  necessary  to  defeat 
you  for  the  good  of  the  party.  Yes,  for  the  good  of 
the  party.  Party  !  party ! — I  get  sick  of  the  word  ! 
Can  you  love  me  just  as  much  when  father  is  doing  all 
he  can  against  you  ?"  As  she  asked  this  question,  her 
hand  timidly  sought  her  lover's. 

"  Of  course  I  can  !"  he  said,  pressing  her  fingers  very 
tenderly.  ' '  What  difference  can  that  make  in  my  love 
for  you  ?  I  love  you  for  your  own  sake,  and  not  for 
political  influence.  I  would  scorn  to  get  your  father's 
aid  through  pretended  love  for  you.  Yes,  yes,  Katie, 
I  love  you — you  are  my  life — and  all  my  hopes  for  future 
happiness  depend  on  you  and  your  love  for  me." 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Manning  was  guiding  the 
horses  with  his  right  arm,  and  it  would  not  have  been 
clear  to  any  but  lovers  what  had  become  of  his  other 
arm.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  both  seemed  pleased  with 
the  situation,  and  that  if  the  young  man's  left  arm  en 
circled  Katie  to  keep  her  from  falling  out  of  the  buggy, 
this  was  very  thoughtful  of  Mr.  Manning,  and  is  cer 
tainly  none  of  our  business. 

"You  know  Squire  Ingleside  is  doing  all  he  can  for 
you."  said  Katie,  her  busy  brain  working  on  some  sub 
ject  which  seemed  to  give  her  trouble.  "  Doesn't  that 
make  you  think  more  of  Jennie  than  you  would  if  her 
father  was  your  enemy?" 

"I  don't  think  anything  of  Jennie,"  he  answered, 
"  except  as  a  friend.  I  like  her  well  enough  as  a  friend, 
that  is  all.  I  never  could  learn  to  care  anything  for  her. " 

"But  you  write  her  notes  sometimes,"  said  Katie, 
softly  and  hesitatingly. 

"I  never  wrote  her  a  note  in  my  life. " 

"  Well,  she  writes  notes  to  you,  then  —  that  is  the 
way  of  it." 

"  What !  Jennie  Ingleside  ?  If  she  ever  wrote  me 
a  note,  I  failed  to  receive  it." 

"Well,  then,  you  spend  the  evening  with  her  occa 
sionally  ?" 


NEARING    THE    SHADOW.  2$ 3 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  there  once — only  once — and  you 
know  when  that  was.  Now,  why  do  you  ask  these 
questions?" 

Katie  repeated  the  conversation  between  Mr.  Saw- 
theaire  and  Jennie  at  the  picnic. 

"  Katie,  Sawtheaire  said  what  he  did  for  a  purpose ; 
and  the  foolish  girl  thought  she  would  leave  the  hearers 
under  the  impression  that  she  was  the  heroine  of  a 
flirtation.  I  beg  you  not  to  believe  a  word  he  says. 
If  he  says  anything  against  me,  come  to  me  with 
it,  and  hear  what  I  have  to  say  before  you  pass  judg 
ment  in  the  matter." 

They  had  left  the  open  prairie  now,  and  entered 
an  extensive  forest  which  skirted  the  bluffs  along  the 
banks  of  the  river.  How  delightfully  cool  was  the 
air  in  these  "unsunned  spaces!"  With  what  fan 
tastic  shapes  the  oaks  and  elms  and  sycamores  reared 
aloft  their  leafy  heads  !  What  a  transition  from  the 
warm,  dry  road  of  the  prairie  to  the  cool,  moist  road 
of  the  woods  !  On  they  drove  slowly,  farther  and  far 
ther  from  human  habitation,  and  deeper  and  deeper 
into  the  wilderness  of  trees.  Their  entrance  into  the 
shady  recesses  of  the  forest  diverted  their  minds  from 
Sawtheaire  and  his  iniquity. 

"  Did  you  ever  read  this  old  ballad,  Katie  ?  "  asked 
Manning. 

Then  he  repeated  the  first  two  stanzas : 

"  Then  deep  in  the  greenwood  rode  he, 

And  he  asked  of  every  tree, 
Oh,  if  ye  have  ever  a  singing  leaf, 
I  pray  you,  give  it  me. 

"  But  the  trees  all  kept  their  silence; 
They  said  neither  yea  nor  nay ; 
Only  there  sighed  from  the  pine-tops 
The  music  of  seas  far  away." 

"That  poem  is  inapplicable  to  us, "said  Katie,  crit 
ically.  ' '  For  instance,  there  are  two  of  us,  and  there 
are  surely  no  pine-tops  here  ;  and  besides,  the  hero  of 
your  ballad  must  have  been  on  horseback." 


254  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"Still  there  are  some  points  of  similarity,"  in 
sisted  Mr.  Manning,  pleasantly.  ' '  For  example,  the 
trees  say  neither  yea  nor  nay ;  and  while  you  may  not 
call  the  sound  of  the  rustling  oak  and  elm  leaves  the 
'  music  of  seas  far  away, '  the  soughing  of  the  wind 
through  the  branches  of  these  prosaic  trees  is  almost 
akin  to  music.  At  least  it  is  delightful  to  hear  when 
one's  sweetheart  is  at  his  side." 

Now  occurred  another  »of  those  indescribable  si 
lences,  while  the  faces  of  the  lovers  approached  very 
close  together,  and  a  sound  might  have  been  heard 
which  was  neither  the  twittering  of  birds  nor  the 
"music  of  seas  far  away."  This  mysterious  sound 
having  ceased,  Katie,  with  a  persuasive  smile,  said : 

"Mr.  Manning,  I  want  to  ask  you  one  question. 
May  I?" 

"Certainly  you  may,  dearest." 

"But  I  want  an  answer.  Will  you  answer  really 
and  truly?" 

"Why,  of  course  I  will,  you  suspicious  child.  I'll 
answer  it  if  I  can." 

"You  can  answer  it,  if  you  will." 

"Very  well,  then,  with  that  statement,  I  promise 
to  answer." 

"What  will  be  my  real  name  when  we  are  mar 
ried?" 

This  question  startled  Manning.  It  was  wholly  un 
expected.  Suddenly  his  left  arm  appeared  in  view, 
and  he  grasped  the  lines  with  both  hands  instead  of 
one,  and  began  to  turn  the  buggy  around  as  if  to  re 
turn  to  Mr.  Murphy's.  It  was  not  an  easy  undertaking 
to  make  the  turn  at  this  point,  but  he  succeeded  in  do 
ing  so  without  accident,  and  the  two  lovers  were  soon 
speeding  along  towards  the  prairie  road.  By  this  time 
Manning  had  collected  his  thoughts  and  determined 
what  answer  he  would  give.  He  brought  his  horses 
down  to  a  walk,  and  asked  : 

"If  I  answer  this  question,  will  you  agree  to  be 
satisfied  on  this  subject  for  the  present  ?  " 


NEARING    THE   SHADOW.  255 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  "provided  that  is  all  you 
will  tell  me.  Of  course,  I  want  all  the  information  I 
can  get." 

"  I  '11  answer  on  one  condition — you  must  ask  me 
no  more  questions  now."  By  this  time  one  of  his  arms 
was  again  out  of  sight. 

Katie  answered  very  softly : 

"Yes,  dearest."  She  had  mastered  part  of  the 
vocabulary  of  love,  but  stumbled  as  yet  at  "dearest 
William." 

"  And  you  will  keep  it  a  sacred  and  inviolable  se 
cret  till  I  release  you  from  your  pledge  of  secrecy?" 

"Yes,  I  will,"  she  answered. 

"Because,  Katie,  I  deem  it  important  that  my  true 
name  should  not  be  made  public.  I  have  promised 
you  to  explain  everything  satisfactorily  before  we  are 
married,  and  you  have  promised  to  trust  me  till  I  feel 
justified  in  explaining." 

"I'll  not  tell  a  soul,  not  even  mother,"  she  said. 

He  whispered  softly  in  her  ear,  as  if  he  was  afraid 
the  trees  might  repeat  the  word : 

"  Your  name  will  be  Huntington." 

"Oh,  I  like  that  name!"  she  exclaimed.  "But 
will  it  be  you  ?  It  \vas  William  Manning  who  made 
love  to  me  at  Mossy  Bank,  and  not  William — " 

The  word  was  never  articulated.  Divining  what 
she  was  going  to  say,  and  fearing  the  vagrant  wind 
might  bear  the  name  to  some  listening  third  party — 
some  woodman  or  hunter  astray  in  the  forest,  perhaps 
— he  stopped  her  mouth  in  the  most  appropriate  way 
imaginable. 

"Well,"  she  said  with  a  little  sigh,  "somehow  a 
person  and  his  name  grow  together  in  one's  mind,  and 
if  you  change  the  name,  it  seems  like  a  change  of  the 
person." 

"Not  with  young  women,"  said  Manning.  "They 
change  their  names,  but  do  not  lose  their  identity."  » 

It  was  nearly  seven  o'clock  when  Mr.  Manning 
helped  Katie  out  of  the  buggy  in  front  of  Mr.  Mur- 


256  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

phy's  house.  A  few  tender  farewell  words,  a  warm, 
earnest,  loving  pressure  of  the  hand,  and  Mr.  Manning 
was  gone — gone — and  the  sweet  joy  of  this  blissful  ride 
had  become  a  recollection  of  the  past.  A  feeling  of 
utter  desolation,  of  loneliness  even  in  the  company  of 
her  friends,  entered  into  and  took  possession  of  Katie's 
heart.  Perhaps  she  had  already  passed  into  the  begin 
ning  of  the  great  shadow,  and  knew  it  not.  Many  a 
time  afterwards  did  she  live  over  in  fond  recollection 
the  events  of  this  day,  and  wonder  if  the  shadow  would 
ever  pass  away  and  the  sunshine  glow  upon  her  path 
way  again. 

When  Katie  entered  the  house,  there  was  a  guilty 
blush  upon  her  cheek,  concerning  which  she  was  rallied 
by  Mr.  Murphy,  who  assured  her  that  she  would  have 
to  eat  a  cold  supper  as  a  consequence  of  her  failure  in 
punctuality.  This  statement  proved  to  be  without 
foundation,  for  a  nice  warm  supper  was  waiting  for  the 
truant  girl. 

And  suppose  the  supper  had  been  cold,  do  you 
think  Katie  would  have  cared  ? 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

DISAPPOINTMENT. 

About  two  weeks  after  his  memorable  buggy  ride 
with  Katie  into  the  depths  of  the  woods,  William  Man 
ning  sat  down  in  the  privacy  of  his  office  to  think  over 
the  past  and  consider  his  prospects  for  the  future.  And 
first  he  indulged  in  long-continued  reveries  over  the 
events  of  two  days — one  at  Mossy  Bank,  and  the  other 
in  the  forest  southwest  of  Mr.  Murphy's.  Other  days 
had  been  forgotten  -r  but  these  were  before'  him  as  if  he 
was  in-  reality  living  them  over  again.  He  had  seen 
the  sun  rise  and  set  a  great  many  times,  yet  he  had  no 
recollection  of  the  appearance  of  the  sky  on  any  of 
these  occasions  save  on  those  two  days,  which  thus  far 
were  above  all  other  days  for  him.  The  rosy-hued  clouds 
which  lay  on  the  eastern  horizon  like  wavy  columns  of 
motionless  smoke,  on  the  morning  when  he  left  Wel 
lington  for  Jackson,  were  distinctly  photographed  on 
his  recollection,  and,  sitting  there  this  moment  in  his 
office,  he  could  see  them  as  he  had  on  that  glorious 
May  morn.  His  feeble  efforts  at  electioneering,  his 
relief  of  the  bankrupt  boy  at  the  bridge,  his  meeting 
with  Katie  at  Mossy  Bank,  and  the  conversation  that 
had  ensued,  were  all  stamped  indelibly  on  his  mind, 
while  other  days,  with  their  records  of  activity  and 
success  and  defeat,  were  almost  entirely  forgotten. 
And  besides,  everything  on  this  particular  day  seemed 
as  if  touched  with  the  wand  of  enchantment.  William 
Manning  had  been  at  Mossy  Bank  many  times,  both 
when  the  trees  were  bearing  aloft  their  fresh  green  robes, 
and  when  they  were  scattering  their  blazing  garments 
upon  the  earth,  but  never  had  the  place  seemed  so 
clothed  with  beauty  as  on  that  afternoon  when  the 
sweetness,  the  innocence,  the  loveliness  of  Katie  An 
derson  added  unwonted  graces  to  the  scene. 

957 


258  A    SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

Then  the  mind  of  this  day-dreamer  vaulted  from 
Mossy  Bank  to  Mr.  Murphy's  yard,  and  he  found  him 
self  reclining  again  on  the  carpet  of  green  grass  in  the 
shade  of  the  old  apple  tree,  looking  into  Katie's  eyes 
and  hearing  her  voice.  Somehow  that  old  tree  seemed 
as  beautiful  as  the  tree  of  life  is  supposed  to  be.  It 
must  have  borne  golden  apples,  and  the  groaning 
branches  must  have  been  as  precious  as  mahogany. 
But  if  Mr.  Manning  had  been  able  to  return  at  this 
moment  to  Mr.  Murphy's,  and  stand  alone  under  that 
ideal  tree,  he  would  have  been  surprised  to  find  that  it 
was  gnarled,  knotty  and  misshapen,  covered  with  a 
profusion  of  water-sprouts,  and  bearing  only  a  scanty 
crop  of  inferior  apples. 

Once  more  he  found  himself  in  the  buggy,  with 
Katie  at  his  side,  enjoying  the  vigorous  breeze  of  the 
prairie,  and  the  cool,  moist  breath  of  the  woods.  He 
dwelt  at  length  on  every  loving  act  and  v/ord  of  his 
affianctd ;  so  that  if  a  reporter  had  been  near  enough 
and  gifted  enough  to  chain  his  thoughts  to  paper,  there 
would  have  been  furnished  to  coming  generations  a 
most  comprehensive  practical  and  theoretical  commen 
tary  on  the  great  subject  of  love.  But  suddenly  his 
reveries  were  checked.  With  a  start  he  awoke  to 
dream  no  more  this  afternoon.  The  cause  of  this  sud 
den  awakening  was  not  a  footstep  at  the  door,  or  a 
loud  peal  of  thunder,  or  an  alarm  of  fire,  but  the  sim 
ple  reflection  which  edged  its  way  into  the  midst  of 
his  reveries,  that  he  had  been  isolated  from  Katie  for 
the  period  of  two  weeks,  and  saw  no  reasonable  pros 
pect  of  meeting  her  for  weeks  to  come.  His  thoughts 
now  took  another  direction. 

Yes,  more  than  two  weeks  had  dragged  heavily 
along  since  he  had  enjoyed  an  opportunity  for  seeing 
or  conversing  with  Katie.  But  wait — he  had  seen  her. 
On  one  occasion,  while  he  was  conversing  with  several 
gentlemen,  she  had  passed  by,  and  he  had  raised  his 
hat,  and  she  had  said  "good  morning."  A  nice  way 
that  of  satisfying  a  famishing,  love-lorn  gentleman  ! 


DISAPPOINTMENT.  259 

At  another  time  Katie  and  Jennie  were  together,  and 
private  conversation  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  On  the 
third  and  last  occasion  Katie  was  alone  ;  but  just  as  he 
approached  her,  determined  on  enjoying  a  short  walk 
and  conversation  with  her,  Henry  Anderson  stepped 
out  of  a  saloon  in  front  of  them,  and  without  taking 
any  notice-  whatever  of  the  attorney,  bore  his  daugh 
ter  away  in  triumph  beyond  all  danger. 

This  state  of  affairs  was  no  longer  tolerable.  Man 
ning  was  practically  no  better  off  than  one  who  had 
proposed  and  been  refused.  He  could  not  feed  forever 
on  the  husks  of  recollection.  He  must  see  her,  and 
that  right  speedily ;  and  if  this  kind  of  a  hiatus  was  to 
be  interposed  between  his  conversation  with  his  darling, 
he  must  persuade  her  to  flee  with  him  to  the  friendly 
covert  of  the  State  of  Missouri,  where  lovers  were  pre 
sumed  to  know  when  they  wanted  to  get  married  with 
out  consultation  with  a  grinning  clerk,  and  where  a 
persecuted  damsel  of  seventeen  might  put  herself  under 
the  protection  of  her  stalwart  admirer  without  consent 
of  father  and  mother. 

Yes,  he  must  see  her — but  how  ?  She  had  success 
fully  planned  for  a  meeting  two  weeks  ago,  and  now  it 
was  his  turn  to  do  the  planning.  Should  he  be  out 
generaled  by  a  seventeen-year-old  girl?  He  buried 
his  chin  in  his  hands  and  pushed  his  mouth  against  his 
nose ;  and  yet  this  act  seemed  to  have  no  quickening 
effect  on  his  inventive  faculties.  "I'll  go  and  see 
Elizabeth  !  "  he  cried,  as  he  dropped  his  hands  from  his 
chin  to  the  table.  "No,"  he  continued,  "  Elizabeth  is* 
in  Maine  by  this  time.  What  business  has  she  to  go 
visiting,  any  way,  and  thus  abandon  her  charges  to 
fate?" 

Presently  a  bright  idea  occurred  to  him,  and  his  face 
lighted  up.  He  snapped  his  fingers,  seized  a  pen,  and 
wrote  Katie  a  very  tender  effusion  coupled  with  a  very 
strange  invitation.  As  this  letter  will  have  something 
to  do  with  this  history,  it  is  given  here  verbatim,  with 
an  admonition  to  the  reader  to  judge  Mr.  Manning's 


26O  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

sugary  passages  as  charitably  as  possible,  remembering 
that  he  is  desperately  in  love. 

"WELLINGTON,  July    lOth,    1876. 

"Mv  OWN  SWEET,  PRECIOUS  DARLING: — Do  you  know,  love,  that 
we  have  been  engaged  now  for  six  weeks,  and,  during  all  that  time,, 
have  met  each  other  alone  but  twice?  Oh,  how  well  do  I  remember  the 
evening  when  we  walked  from  Squire  Ingleside's  to  the  Lovers'  Retreat! 
And  how  well  do  I  remember  that  afternoon  when  we  drove  from  Mr. 
Murphy's  into  the  woods  and  back !  What  blissful  hours  those  were ! 
How  happy  I  was  when  holding  you  close  to  my  heart,  knowing  that 
you  were  my  own  sweet  darling  forever !  And  how  miserable  am  I  now 
when  I  am  denied  your  smiles  and  loving  words,  and  even  the  right  to 
see  you  and  converse  with  you  on  general  themes  which  is  accorded  to 
the  most  distant  friend. 

"  Katie,  I  can  not  live  in  this  way  much  longer.  I  must  see  you 
occasionally.  If  worse  comes  to  worst,  I  have  a  desperate  measure  to 
propose,  which  will  be  hinted  at  further  on,  but  which  it  would  not  be 
advisable  to  undertake  unless  all  other  expedients  fail.  When  every 
thing  else  fails,  I  '11  have  no  hesitancy  in  insisting  on  this  most  desperate 
of  measures. 

"  I  have  sat  htre  in  my  office,  day  after  day,  thinking  of  you,  dar 
ling  Katie ;  and  often  when  I  have  tried  to  attend  to  business,  your  im 
age  has  come  between  me  and  my  work,  and  I  have  passed  away  the 
hours  in  dreaming  of  you.  Especially  have  I  tried  to  think  out  some 
way  of  seeing  you,  that  our  vows  of  love  might  be  renewed.  But,  alas ! 
I  have  made  repeated  failures.  And  then  it  is  that  I  have  thought  of 
desperate  measures  —  of  elopement  and  marriage  —  as  the  only  possible 
way  out  of  this  misery  of  separation.  No  license  is  required  in  Mis 
souri,  and  you  could  be  married  there  without  the  consent  of  father  or 
mother.  I  hope  your  parents  will  not  drive  me  to  insist  on  such  a 
course ;'  but  I  '11  not  hesitate,  as  long  as  you  love  me  truly,  to  propose 
anything  which  may  promise  us  a  happy  union. 

"  Ah !  there  is  the  difficulty.  A  happy  union.  You  are  so  young, 
that  you  may  scarcely  know  your  own  heart,  and  marriage,  in  disobe 
dience  to  your  parents'  commands,  might  result  in  making  you  miserable. 
For  this  reason,  darling,  I  can  not  yet  ask  you  to  disobey  them.  And 
that,  too,  though  I  fear  they  will  do  all  in  their  power  to  alienate  your 
•  affections  from  me.  I  pray  the  Lord  that  we  may  yet  be  permitted  to 
love  in  peace,  without  the  necessity  ultimately  of  marrying  against  the 
wishes  of  your  parents. 

"  But  one  thing  is  certain,  darling  —  I  must  see  you.  I  have  many 
things  to  say  to  you — thoughts  which  I  do  not  desire  to  commit  to 
paper.  So  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  meet  me  at  Mossy  Bank  to-morrow, 
at  threeNin  the  afternoon.  I  know  this  is  asking  a  great  deal,  and  I 
would  not  propose  it  if  I  could  think  of  any  other  plan.  You  can  frame 
some  excuse  for  getting  away  from  home,  I  know.  The  worst  thing 
about  the  whole  arrangement  is  that  you  will  have  to  walk,  for  I  dare  not 
call  for  you  with  a  buggy. 

"  It  might  be  very  difficult,  clearest,  for  you  to  send  me  an  answer, 
30  I  am  going  to  take  it  for  granted  that  you  will  meet  me  if  possible. 


DISAPPOINTMENT.  26 1 

"  Mossy  Bank !  What  a  dear  old  place !  Can  we  ever  forget  it 
with  its  sweet  associations.  I  can  hardly  wait  till  I  meet  you  there  to 
morrow.  Ever  your  own,  true,  loving  W.  M." 

After  William  Manning  had  read  this  letter  over 
carefully,  he  seemed  very  well  satisfied  with  it,  and 
sealed  it  up  in  a  cream-tinted  envelope.  It  did  not 
seem  at  all  sickeningly  sweet  to  its  author;  but  if  it 
should  to  some  old  gentleman  of  threescore  and  ten,  in 
whose  heart  the  fire  of  love  is  but  a  heap  of  cooling  ashes, 
or  to  some  luckless  damsel  who  has  never  had  the  ex 
quisite  pleasure  of  having  some  nice  young  man  say 
enthusiastically,  "I  love  you — you — you!"  Mr.  Man 
ning  presents  to  such  his  humble  apologies,  and  directs 
the  author  to  say  that  if  he  ever  becomes  a  writer  of  love 
letters  again,  which  he  devoutly  prays  there  may  be  no 
occasion  for,  he  will  pay  the  said  old  gentleman  and 
damsel  liberally  for  a  few  approved  precedents  with  a 
Jonsonese  or  philosophical  flavor,  breathing  forth  a 
spirit  of  love  which  is  purely  intellectual,  and  scorns 
emotion  and  sentimentality.  Selah  ! 

With  this  letter  lying  in  his  pocket  just  over  the 
region  of  his  true,  loyal  heart,  William  Manning  sallied 
forth  from  the  office  upon  the  streets  in  search  of  Katie. 
But  that  young  woman  had  no  business  to  transact  at 
the  stores  this  afternoon,  and  her  prudent,  old-fashioned 
mother  foolishly  declined  to  permit  her  child  to  pace  the 
streets  on  parade,  and  so  Mr.  Manning  stood  against 
sign-posts  and  sat  on  goods-boxes  to  no  purpose. 
Nothing  daunted,  however,  he  left  the  square,  and 
sauntered  leisurely  towards  Mr.  Anderson's  house.  As 
he  passed  the  premises,  he  saw  Katie  on  the  porch. 
How  he  longed  to  go  in,  and  sit  by  her  side,  and  talk 
to  her,  as  a  pleasing  finale  to  the  adventures  of  this 
beautiful  day!  But  such  a  course  would  bring  on 
trouble,  possibly  a  collision  with  her  father,  and  he 
dared  not  follow  out  his  wishes.  He  simply  lifted  his 
hat,  while  Katie,  with  a  sweet  smile,  acknowledged  the 
salutation.  Now  what  was  to  be  done?  Should  he 
turn  back,  enter  the  yard,  walk  deliberately  up  to  Katie 


262  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

and,  with  a  courtly  bow,  hand  her  his  letter  ?  Suddenly 
a  better  plan  occurred  to  him,  and  he  proceeded  im 
mediately  to  carry  it  into  effect.  He  held  tl\e  letter  up 
in  such  a  way  that  Katie  could  see  it,  but  so  as  not  to 
attract  the  attention  of  any  other  observer,  if  that  were 
possible.  He  saw  no  one  else  about  the  premises ;  and 
the  fact  is,  though  he  did  not  positively  know  it  to  be 
so,  that  no  eyes,  save  Katie's,  saw  the  letter  in  his 
hand.  When  satisfied  that  she  had  seen  his  move 
ment  and  understood  its  meaning,  he  dropped  the  letter 
over  the  fence,  walking  along  carelessly  all  the  time. 
After  he  had  passed  by,  Katie  tripped  joyfully  down 
the  steps,  only  to  be  arrested  by  her  mother's  inquiry, 
"Where  are  you  going,  Katie  ?"  to  which  she  answered, 
to  her  mother's  entire  satisfaction,  "Only  to  see  my 
flowers.  "  Well,  she  did  look  at  her  flowers,  pausing  for 
a  moment  to  look  at  a  bed  of  geraniums,  and  then 
passing  on  to  a  bed  of  verbenas,  and  then  sauntering  to 
the  fence,  where  there  was  neither  flower-bed,  nor 
gate,  nor  tree,  but  only  closely  clipped  grass.  There 
a  cream-tinted  envelope  was  resting  lightly  on  the  soft 
greensward.  Katie  accidentally  dropped  her  handker 
chief,  and  very  properly  picked  it  up  again.  At  least 
so  it  appeared  to  Mrs.  Anderson  from  the  sitting-room 
window.  But  the  artful  little  miss  took  up  the  cream- 
tinted  envelope  and  several  blades  of  unoffending  blue- 
grass  with  the  handkerchief,  and  dexterously  thrust  the 
whole  handful  into  her  dress  pocket.  After  awhile 
Katie  returned  to  the  house  and  ascended  to  her  room. 
The  lovers  thought  they  had  managed  this  affair  with 
consummate  skill ;  and  so  they  had ;  the  letter  had  been 
delivered,  and  no  third  person  had  the  faintest  sus 
picion  that  this  stroll  of  William  Manning  past  the 
premises  of  Henry  Anderson  meant  more  than  a  walk 
for  exercise,  or  at  most  a  hope  of  obtaining  a  glimpse 
of  Katie. 

Now  Katie  was  very  anxious  to  read  that  letter. 
She  was  equally  anxious  to  see  her  lover  again.  The 
letter  would  keep,  but  her  lover  would  soon  pass  by  on 


DISAPPOINTMENT.  263 

his  way  back  to  the  square.  So  she  went  to  the  window 
and  threw  open  the  blind,  that  she  might  watch  for  Mr. 
Manning's  return.  But  his  return  was"  by  another 
route  ;  imagining  that  the  eyes  of  the  community  were 
upon  him,  and  not  wishing  to  be  considered  as  foolishly 
in  love,  he  undertook  to  show  the  neighbors  his  in 
difference  to  insignificant  affairs  of  the  heart  by  denying 
himself  the  pleasure  of  again  passing  the  home  of 
Katie  Anderson. 

Katie  sat  by  the  window  till  she  became  satisfied 
she  would  see  her  lover  no  more  that  night.  She 
turned  away  from  the  window  with  a  feeling  o'f  disap 
pointment,  to  the  perusal  of  her  letter.  Her  disappoint 
ment  gave  place  to  joy.  How  happy  the  letter  made 
her  feel !  There  were  some  suggestions  in  it  that  she 
could  not  approve  of,  as,  for  instance,  that  of  an 
elopement  and  marriage  in  the  State  of  Missouri,  which 
would  certainly  be  a  burning  disgrace  to  her  through 
out  all  time.  She  never  could  give  her  consent  to  such 
a  course  as  that.  She  would  be  married  at  home,  with 
the  consent  of  her  father  and  mother,  or  she  would  not 
be  married  at  all.  But  it  was  very  pleasant  to  know 
that  William  Manning's  love  for  her  was  such  that  he 
was  ready  to  marry  her  now,  even  in  her  present  uned- 
educated  and  inexperienced  condition  of  mind  and  heart ; 
in  other  words,  to  take  her  just  as  she  was.  And 
it  would  certainly  be  pleasant  to  meet  him  once  more 
at  Mossy  Bank,  escaping  the  espionage  of  her  parents, 
and  walking  thither  to  renew  her  troth  at  the  very 
place  where  it  had  first  been  plighted.  That  would  in 
deed  be  the  perfection  of  romance  !  Was  anything  more 
agreeable  to  be  found  in  the  leading  novels  of  the  day? 
Of  course  she  would  go ;  but  upon  what  pretext  she 
would  obtain  permission  for  such  a  trip  she  was  as  yet 
unable  to  conjecture. 

She  went  to  the  bureau  to  see  whether  her  appear 
ance  was  what  it  should  be  before  descending  to  the 
sitting-room,  where  there  was  a  possibility  of  her  meet 
ing  callers  during  the  course  of  the  evening.  Her  hair 


264  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

could  be  improved  by  brushing,  she  thought.  So  she 
laid  the  letter  on  the  bureau,  and  proceeded  to  brush  and 
comb  her  glossy  hair.  While  Katie  was  not  vain,  she 
was  yet  mortal ;  and  in  her  case  vanity  would  have  been 
excusable,  for  no  one  could  see  her  face  in  the  glass  or 
out  of  the  glass  without  thinking  it  was  very  beautiful ; 
and  if  Katie  herself  thought  she  saw  a  lovely  face  in 
the  glass,  and  thanked  God  for  it,  her  rejoicing  was  on 
her  lover's  account,  and  for  that  reason  was  certainly 
permissible.  Before  she  had  completed  her  toilet,  she 
heard  her  mother's  voice  calling  her  from  the  foot  of 
the  stairway. 

"Come  here,  Katie!  Come  at  once,  dear,  and  see 
what  your  father  has  brought  you  !  " 

Now  this  world  will  be  very  old  and  gray  before  a 
young  miss  of  seventeen  can  resist  an  invitation  to 
satisfy  her  curiosity  on  such  a  subject.  "  A  present!" 
she  said.  "What  can  it  be?  I'm  coming,  mother," 
she  called,  raising  her  voice. 

She  forgot  all  about  that  letter,  and  tripped  light 
ly  down  the  stairs,  and  found  her  mother  in  the 
sitting-room,  holding  a  dress  pattern  of  beautiful  brown 
silk. 

"See  what  your  father  has  brought  you,  Katie," 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Anderson,  with  a  glow  of  happiness  on 
her  face.  The  loving  mother  had  her  own  unspoken  rea 
sons  for  desiring  to  see  the  daughter's  affection  for  the 
father  strengthened,  and  she  thought  such  propitiatory 
offerings  would  have  that  effect.  Her  theory  was  that 
if  limitations  must  be  imposed  on  one  side,  the  free 
dom  should,  if  possible,  be  enlarged  upon  the  other; 
that  the  interdiction  of  all  intercourse  with  Mr.  Man 
ning  might  be  counterbalanced  by  a  silk  dress  and  a 
few  trinkets  ;  and  that  thereby  Katie's  love  for  her 
father  might  be  maintained  in  a  state  of  equilibrium, 
notwithstanding  her  father's  severity  towards  her  lover. 

You  may  imagine  Katie's  eyes  sparkled  and  her 
soul  overflowed  with  joy.  She  ran  to  her  father,  who 
was  sitting  by  the  window  endeavoring  to  appear  en 


DISAPPOINTMENT.  265 

grossed'in  the  market  reports  in  his  newspaper,  and  ut 
terly  unconscious  of  the  delight  his  present  had  brought 
to  wife  and  daughter.  She  threw  her  arms  around  his 
neck  and  kissed  him,  and  thanked  him  with  all  the 
fervid  adjectives  used  by  young  girls  on  such  an  occa 
sion  ;  for  Katie  did  not  live  in  a  tub,  or  covet  such  a 
life,  and  she  thought  as  much  of  a  new  silk  dress  as 
Adam  and  Eve  did  of  their  leafy  attire  in  the  garden 
of  Eden. 

Henry  Anderson  had  counted  his  money  before  he 
made  the  purchase,  and  had  hesitated  three  days  before 
he  had  been  able  to  induce  himself  to  consent  to  the 
exchange  of  his  treasury  notes  for  the  fine  soft  threads 
of  the  Bombyx  mori;  but  now  he  was  glad  he  had 
made  the  exchange,  as  he  experienced  the  happiness 
which  the  giver  feels  when  the  gift  is  received  with  un 
feigned  joy  and  appreciation. 

At  that  moment  a  well  known  voice  was  heard  in 
the  hall,  and  immediately  thereafter  Jennie  Ingleside 
flew  into  the  room  ;  for  such  was  the  intimacy  of  these 
girls  that  they  had  for  a  long  time  abjured  the  use  of 
door-bells  and  knockers,  except  at  times  of  unusual 
solemnity.  Of  course  the  dress  must  be  shown  to 
Jennie.  It  must  be  looked  at  and  examined  in  every 
imaginable  way.  It  must  be  tested  by  feeling  and  by 
twisting  off  a  few  strands  where  the  piece  had  been 
severed  from  the  bolt.  It  must  be  partly  unrolled  and 
held  up  against  Katie.  Then  Jennie  must  step  on  this 
side,  and  then  on  that,  and  poise  her  head  with  a  crit 
ical  air,  in  her  effort  to  determine  whether  or  not  the 
shade  would  be  "becoming."  How  did  she  like  it? 
It  was  "charming,"  "beautiful,"-  and  of  excellent 
quality,  but —  But  what  ?  Well,  if  it  had  been  one- 
sixteenth  of  a  shade  lighter,  it  would  have  been  more 
"  becoming  "  to  one  of  Katie's  complexion  ;  and  yet  it 
would  "do,"  yes,  it  would  "do"  very  well. 

While  these  important  investigations  were  going 
on,  Mrs.  Anderson  was  busily  engaged  in  thinking 
how  the  dress  should  be  made  and  how  it  should  be 


266  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

trimmed.  "Katie  has  a  piece  of  velvet  which  has 
never  been  used,  and  I  believe  it 's  the  right  shade  to 
match  this  silk,"  thought  the  mother.  She  was  just 
about  to  ask  Katie  to  run  and  bring  the  velvet,  when 
she  checked  herself  with  the  suggestion,  "The  girls 
are  not  over  their  excitement,  and  I  '11  get  the  velvet 
myself."  She  went  to  Katie's  room,  and  was  just  open 
ing  the  drawer  where  she  expected  to  find  the  velvet, 
when  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  open  letter  which  Katie 
had  left  lying  upon  the  bureau.  The  very  first  expres 
sion  which  attracted  her  attention  was  the  address, 
"  MY  OWN  SWEET,  PRECIOUS  DARLING."  The  first  four 
words  were  underscored  twice,  and  the  last,  three  times. 
This  address  was  tolerably  suggestive.  It  was  not  to 
be  explained  away.  She  turned  the  letter  over  to  see 
by  whom  it  was  written,  and  read,  "  EVER  YOUR  OWN, 
TRUE,  LOVING  W.  M.,"  in  bold  characters  and  with 
elaborate  underscoring.  The  writer  was  very  much  in 
earnest,  or  he  had  a  superfluity  of  ink.  And  there 
upon  she  did  what  any  other  mother  would  have  done 
— she  read  the  entire  letter.  How  can  her  feelings  be 
described  ?  Engagement !  elopement !  marriage  !  She 
had  not  dreamed  that  her  daughter  and  Manning  were 
engaged  ;  but  here  was  the  revelation  of  that  fact  indu 
bitably  attested.  They  had  been  meeting,  and  he  had 
held  her  in  his  arms,  he  had  kissed  her,  he  was  even  now 
hinting  strongly  at  an  early  marriage  in  Missouri  in  de 
fiance  of  father  and  mother,  and  proposing  a  meeting  at 
Mossy  Bank  to-morrow  afternoon  !  What  could  be  the 
object  of  that  meeting  ?  To  tell  her  what  he  did  ' '  not  de 
sire  to  commit  to  paper?"  What  could  this  mean  but 
the  perfection  of  arrangements  for  an  early  elopement 
and  marriage  ?  Her  heart  sank  within  her ;  a  great  fear 
seized  upon  her.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  She  would 
leave  the  letter,  for  she  must  think  the  matter  over 
carefully  before  deciding  to  tell  Katie  what  she  had  ac 
cidentally  learned.  Should  she  tell  her  husband  ?  Even 
that  was  a  serious  question.  He  was  a  man  of  consid 
erable  temper,  and  came  of  a  family  that  had  had  its 


DISAPPOINTMENT.  267 

feuds,  and  had  not  hesitated  to  attack  as  well  as  defend. 
She  was  satisfied  that  William  Manning  would  never 
manifest  lamb-like  characteristics  under  threats  and 
abuse.  If  her  husband  should  be  informed  of  the  facts 
which  she  had  just  learned,  he  would  seek  Manning 
and  assault  him,  without  doubt,  and  the  result  might 
be  the  death  of  one  or  both  of  them.  Such  things  had 
been,  and  might  be  again.  Besides,  she  had  a  moth 
er's  desire  to  shield  her  daughter  from  a  father's  wrath. 
So  she  decided  that  it  would  not  be  prudent  to  tell 
her  husband  till  every  other  means  for  the  rescue  of  her 
daughter  had  been  exhausted.  Yes,  for  Katie's  rescue  ; 
so  she  now  considered  it.  The  child  of  her  affection 
was  rn  great  danger.  Mr.  Manning's  proposition  of 
elopement  to  a  mere  child,  as  the  mother  regarded  her 
daughter,  did  not  comport  with  that  honor  and  integrity 
she  had  ascribed  to  him.  The  mystery  which  enveloped 
his  early  history  might  mean  something  dreadful  after 
all,  and  Katie  might  be  lavishing  her  affection  upon  a 
deep-dyed  villain.  Added  to  these  considerations  was 
the  further  fact  that  her  husband  had  come  to  entertain 
an  ineradicable  antipathy  towards  William  Manning,  and 
would  never  become  reconciled  to  a  marriage  consum- 

o 

mated  against  his  will  and  judgment.  If  Katie  should 
elope  with  William  Manning,  the  doors  of  her  father's 
house  would  be  forever  closed  against  her,  and  the 
mother's  heart  would  break  at  the  separation  from  her 
darling  daughter,  whom  she  loved  better  than  her  own 
life.  She  clasped  her  hands  together  in  inconceivable 
agony.  Yes,  yes,  she  must  prevent  this  meeting,  and 
find  some  way  to  place  Katie,  temporarily  at  least,  be 
yond  the  range  of  temptation  and  danger. 

She  suppressed  her  feelings  as  best  she  could,  and 
returned  to  the  sitting-room,  where  she  entered  into  a 
discussion  of  dress-making  in  general,  and  the  making 
of  this  dress  in  particular,  her  heart  aching  all  the 
while,  and  her  mind  intensely  engaged  in  seeking  a  so 
lution  of  the  other  problem.  By  the  time  Jennie  had 
gone  and  James  and  Katie  had  retired  to  their  rooms, 


268  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

she  thought  she  had  devised  a  plan  which  might  avert 
the  impending  catastrophe. 

"Henry,"  she  said  to  her  husband,  "it  is  now 
more  than  twenty-one  years  since  we  moved  to  Illinois, 
and  during  all  that  time  we  have  never  been  back  to 
Kentucky.  I  used  to  think  I  would  like  to  return  for 
a  visit,  but  since  my  father  and  mother  are  dead  there 
is  little  to  interest  me  there ;  but  I  should  think  you 
would  want  to  go  and  see  your  father  and  mother. 
They  are  getting  old,  and  you  know  how  anxious  they 
are  to  see  you  before  they  die." 

"  I  do  want  to  see  them,  Mary;  and  every  season 
I  say  to  myself  that  I  will  go  next  year,  and  then  when 
the  next  year  comes,  I  can  't  get  away,  or  find  some 
other  use  for  my  money,  and  so  time  passes  on,  and 
I  do  not  go  at  all.  But  then  there  have  been  great 
changes  there  during  all  these  years.  Many  of  our 
friends  have  died,  and  their  children  have  grown  up  and 
taken  their  places,  and  a  visit  to  Kentucky  would  be 
only  a  sad  disappointment.  I  have  been  thinking  that 
we  might  make  a  trial  of  it  next  year.  I  can  not  pos 
sibly  go  this  summer." 

"Your  parents  may  be  in  the  grave  before  another 
year  rolls  round.  You  understand  your  own  business, 
and  I  do  n't  want  to  uge  you  against  your  judgment. 
But  why  not  send  James  and  Katie  ?  They  have  never 
seen  grandpa  and  grandma  Anderson.  You  know  your 
mother  wrote  in  her  last  letter  for  us  to  send  the  chil 
dren  if  we  could  not  go.  How  proud  she  would  be 
of  James  and  Katie  !  I  believe  it  would  lengthen  out 
her  days  to  see  them.  And  it  would  be  such  a  pleas 
ant  trip  for  the  children." 

"I  can't  send  them  this  summer.  The  expense 
would  be  considerable,  and  I  'm  a  little  short  of  money 
just  now," 

That  was  true ;  but  Henry  Anderson  did  not  ex 
plain  what  had  produced  the  shortage.  Perhaps  Trink- 
enviellager  et  al.  could  have  furnished  a  clear  explana 
tion. 


DISAPPOINTMENT.  269 

"  The  expense  would  n't  be  very  great,"  Mrs.  An 
derson  persisted.  "They  would  be  out  nothing  but 
their  railroad  fare — they  would  n't  have  to  pay  board. 
I  can  reduce  my  personal  expenses,  if  that  will  enable 
you  to  send  the  children  to  Kentucky.  You  said  the 
other  day  that  I  should  have  a  new  cloak  this  fall.  I 
can  wear  my  old  one  very  well,  and  will  contribute 
that  much  to  the  fund." 

"You  shall  have  your  cloak,  Mary.  I  '11  not  send 
the  children  on  a  vacation  at  your  expense.  No,  I 
have  n't  the  money  to  spare  this  season.  They  '11  have 
to  wait.  Besides,  Katie  ought  to  stay  at  home  to  help 
you.  She  is  getting  old  enough  to  be  useful,  and  I 
want  her  to  relieve  you  of  hard  work  for  awhile.  I  'd 
rather  try  to  raise  the  money  to  send  you." 

Mrs.  Anderson  slowly  tapped  the  table  with  the 
edge  of  a  folded  newspaper.  In  a  few  minutes  she 
spoke  again,  this  time  very  slowly  and  thoughtfully : 

"  I  want  Katie  to  go  especially.  I  believe  she  still 
entertains  some — some — liking  for  Mr.  Manning,  and 
I  know  you  are  desirous  of  putting  an  end  to  anything 
of  the  kind.  Would  n't  it  help  break  up  this  feeling 
if  she  was  sent  away  for  a  while  ?  And  where  would 
you  find  a  better  place  to  send  her  than  among  your 
own  people  ?" 

"  Well,  now,"  said  her  husband,  with  considerable 
animation,  "  there  may  be  something  in  what  you  say. 
I  believe  from  my  soul,  Mary,  that  your  plan  is  a  very 
good  one.  Why  didn't  you  think  of  it  sooner?  You 
see  Katie  is  a  little  stubborn — pretty  well  set  in  her 
ways,  as  the  saying  is.  Understand  that  I  am  not 
making  a  fuss  about  that  part  of  her  disposition ;  the 
fact  is,  \  suppose  she  came  by  it  honestly  enough.  But 
I'm  satisfied  that  she  hasn't  given  up  her  fancy  for 
Manning,  and  I  've  been  striving  for  some  time  to  hit 
upon  a  plan  that  would  set  the  two  by  the  ears.  I  've 
seen  enough  to  know  that  Manning  has  serious  inten 
tions,  and,  curse  him  !  "he's  a  determined  fellow.  I  'd 
as  soon  have  the  devil  for  a  son-in-law.  He  's  after 


27O  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

what  little  money  I  've  got,  the  dog!  But  he  '11  never 
get  a  cent  of  it  —  never,  if  I  can  prevent  it!  Yes,  I 
believe  your  idea  is  a  good  one,  Mary  ;  but  what  is  the 
use  of  sending  James?" 

"  He  would  be  company  for  Katie  —  would  look 
after  her  going  and  returning.  I  should  be  very  loth 
to  let  her  go  alone.  And  then  James  ought  to  see  his 
grandparents ;  the  trip  would  do  him  good ;  and  I  be 
lieve  he  would  do  better  work  this  winter  in  school 
after  a  nice  little  trip  like  this.  Nearly  all  the  young 
men  of  his  age  have  taken  some  sort  of  a  tour  abroad, 
while  James  has  hardly  been  out  of  the  county." 

'  *  All  right — let  James  go,  too.  When  can  they  be 
ready  to  start?" 

"  Inside  of  a  week,  I  think,"  was  the  answer.  "  I 
want  Katie  to  have  her  new  dress  to  take  with  her,  and 
am  sure  that  we  can  get  it  done  by  that  time.  In  the 
meantime,  I  '11  write  your  mother.  Shall  I  say  they 
will  start  some  time  next  week  ?" 

"  I  suppose  so — oh,  yes  !  they  can  go  then,  as  far 
as  I  am  concerned.  All  I  have  to  do  is  to  furnish  the 
money,  and  I  can  get  that  at  any  time." 

The  next  morning,  Mr.  Anderson  informed  his 
children  that,  while  his  exchequer  was  in  a  depleted 
condition,  he  had  nevertheless,  at  the  suggestion  of 
their  mother,  determined  to  send  them  to  Kentucky 
for  the  remainder  of  the  summer,  to  visit  their  grand 
parents  and  the  many  relatives  and  friends  there  whom 
they  had  never  seen. 

"  You  will  be  warmly  received,  and  will  be  delighted 
with  your  grandparents  and  with  the  country — differ 
ent,  altogether  different  from  ours,  and  all  the  more 
agreeable  because  of  its  novelty.  I  '11  venture,  to  say 
that  you'll  find  father  and  mother  a  jolly  old  couple." 

James  was  delighted,  as  was  to  be  expected.  His 
bosom  swelled  with  anticipated  joy.  He  had  for  a  long 
time  been  importunate  in  his  requests  to  be  permitted 
to  see  at  least  a  small  part  of  this  wonderful  globe. 
He  was  now  twenty  years  of  age,  and  his  experimental 


DISAPPOI NTMENT.  2?  I 

geographical  knowledge  was  limited  to  the  unromantic 
prairies,  forests  and  creeks  of  his  native  land.  He  had 
never  seen  the  "deep  and  dark  blue  ocean  ;"  he  had. 
never  scaled  a  mountain  ;  he  had  never  witnessed  the 
activity  and  the  glitter  of  a  great  city.  He  asserted 
that  it  would  afford  him  great  pleasure  to  visit  Ken 
tucky,  and  he  would  promise  to  come  back  with  a 
greater  enthusiasm  for  his  books.  His  father  re 
marked  that  this  would  be  an  end  worthy  of  the 
means. 

But  Katie  sounded  forth  no  note  of  joy.  On  the 
contrary,  she  seemed  oppressed  with  the  intelligence, 
and  said  that  she  would  prefer  to  stay  at  home  and  help 
her  mother.  Such  remarkable  devotion  to  mother  was 
commendable.  Then,  she  had  another  reason  for  de 
clining  to  leave  home  at  present — she  had  some  study 
ing  she  wanted  to  look  after  during  the  vacation,  so 
that  she  might  take  an  advanced  position  at  college 
during  the  ensuing  winter.  Were  those  the  only  rea 
sons  she  had  for  resisting  her  father's  munificent  offer  ? 
Ye-e-e-s,  those  were  the  only  reasons  she  could  think 
of  just  now. 

Mrs.  Anderson  came  at  once  to  her  husband's  sup 
port,  and  declared  that  Katie's  reasons  were  absurd,  etc. 
She  had  done  her  own  work  for  twenty-one  years,  with 
some  help  of  late  from  her  daughter,  and  felt  able  to 
manage  the  affairs  of  her  household,  without  help,  for 
the  remainder  of  the  summer.  She  did  not  deem  it 
advisable  for  Katie  to  spend  her  vacation  in  hard  study  ; 
for  she  was  now  in  advance  of  her  classes,  and  would 
have  to  be  taken  ouf  of  college  if  she  progressed  much 
more  rapidly — the  professors  would  not  be  able  to  keep 
pace  with  her.  Thus  Katie  found  that  the  visit  to 
Kentucky  had  been  determined  upon  in  the  parental 
council,  and  that  her  resistance  would  simply  excite  sus 
picion  without  operating  to  defeat  their  purpose.  So 
she  silently  acquiesced  in  their  decision,  and  set  to 
work,  with  her  mother's  help,  to  set  things  in  order  for 
her  departure.  She  reasoned  that  she  could  be  but  little 


2/2  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

worse  off  in  Kentucky  than  at  home.  Here  she  saw 
her  lover  but  rarely,  and  then  only  under  the  greatest 
difficulties.  He  dared  not  even  mail  her  a  letter,  lest  it 
might  fall  into  her  father's  hands ;  but  he  could  write 
to  her  in  Kentucky,  and  fearlessly  forward  his  letters 
by  mail.  Her  term  of  absence  would  not  exceed  six 
or  eight  weeks,  for  she  would  be  expected  to  return  in 
time  for  the  opening  of  the  fall  term  of  the  college. 
"If  Mr.  Manning  can  not  be  true  to  me  for  six  weeks, 
the  sooner  I  learn  the  fact  the  better  off  I  will  be.  I 
will  give  Jennie  Ingleside  a  fair  opportunity  to  test  his 
loyalty  to  me — let  her  bring  on  her  batteries  and  begin 
the  assault.  But  I  do  not  fear  the  result — not  in  the 
least;  for  I  believe  he  is  as  true  as  steel." 

As  has  been  stated,  Mrs.  Anderson  determined  that 
the  meeting  proposed  in  William  Manning's  letter 
should  not  take  place.  Such  clandestine  interviews 
should  not  be  tolerated  at  all.  So  she  planned  to  begin 
work  on  Katie's  new  dress  that  very  afternoon  ;  a  dress 
maker  was  engaged,  and  Katie  was  informed  that  she 
must  be  at  home,  for  the  dress  must  be  cut  and  fitted, 
and  the  utmost  diligence  would  be  necessary  in  order 
that  she  might  be  ready  to  start  at  the  appointed  time. 
Katie  pleaded  every  imaginable  excuse  to  defer  the 
work  till  the  following  morning.  She  urged  that  she 
wanted  to  see  some  of  the  girls  that  afternoon.  She 
offered  to  go  and  tell  the  dress-maker  not  to  come  till 
morning,  and  guaranteed  that  such  an  arrangement 
would  be  satisfactory  to  the  dress-maker,  who  could 
surely  find  employment  for  the  half  day  if  she  had  one- 
fourth  as  much  to  do  as  she  pretended  to  have.  But 
Mrs.  Anderson  was  inexorable,  and  Katie's  excuses 
and  expostulations  and  offers  proved  of  no  avail.  One 
purpose,  however,  was  subserved  by  Katie's  efforts  to 
prepare  the  way  for  a  meeting  with  her  lover.  Mrs. 
Anderson  was  pained  and  alarmed.  She  had  the  key 
to  the  situation,  though  Katie  knew  it  not,  and  under 
stood  full  well  the  cause  of  her  daughter'-s  dissem 
bling. 


DISAPPOINTMENT.  2/3 

Just  before  dinner,  Katievfinding  her  hopes  destroyed, 
ran  upstairs,  that  she  might  relieve  her  disappointment 
in  the  usual  way.  The  day  was  perfect — a  delightful 
time,  indeed,  for  a  stroll  to  Mossy  Bank,  and  an  in 
teresting  meeting  and  parting  of  lovers.  For  she  was 
going  away  in  a  few  days,  and  their  meeting  would  also 
be  their  parting,  and  must  take  place  this  afternoon,  if 
at  all ;  there  would  be  no  possibility  of  making  another 
engagement,  and  no  hope  of  keeping  it  if  it  should  be 
made.  Distressed  as  she  was,  she  turned  to  the  drawer 
where  she  kept  her  lover's  letters,  and  sought  conso 
lation  from  them.  She  took  them  out  tenderly  and 
read  them  over  fondly,  trying  to  satisfy  the  longings  of 
her  heart  with  the  words  he  had  written.  There  she 
sat  till  her  mother  called  her  to  dinner ;  whereupon  she 
washed  away  every  trace  of  tears,  and  obeyed  her 
mother's  summons. 

While  the  family  were  at  the  table  a  note  was  re 
ceived  from  the  dress-maker,  stating  that  she  could  not 
come  till  morning.  This  revived  Katie's  hopes.  If  she 
had  known  that  her  mother  had  read  Mr.  Manning's 
letter,  the  note  of  the  dress- maker  would  have  furnished 
no  ground  for  hope. 

Just  as  they  were  rising  from  the  table,  a  child  came 
rushing  into  the  house,  crying  out  excitedly  that  Mrs. 
Hambledon,  who  lived  just  across  the  street,  was  dying, 
and  that  the  family  wanted  Mrs.  Anderson  to  come 
over  at  once.  Poor  Katie,  true  to  our  selfish  human 
nature,  thought  more  of  the  effect  Mrs.  Hambledon's 
condition  would  have  on  that  meeting  at  Mossy  Bank 
than  she  did  of  its  disastrous  consequences  to  the 
dying  woman's  family.  It  seemed  as  if  Providence, 
while  smiting  in  one  direction,  was  blessing  in  another. 
But  she  was  undeceived  and  her  hopes  were  cast  down 
again,  when  her  mother,  as  she  left  the  house,  strictly 
enjoined  her  to  stay  at  home  and  look  after  the  prem 
ises  during  the  afternoon. 

Katie  washed  the  dishes.  Meanwhile  there  was  a 
terrible  conflict  in  her  breast  between  duty  and  incli- 


2/4  A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

nation.  Duty  told  her  she^should  obey  her  mother ; 
inclination  bade  her  disobey,  and  seize  the  favorable 
moment;  while  her  mother  was  seriously  engaged  else 
where,  to  keep  her  tryst  with  William  Manning  at 
Mossy  Bank.  Her  desires  were  all  in  the  line  of  dis 
obedience;  there  were  statements  and  suggestions  in 
her  lover's  letter  which  had  instructed  her  in  a  most  will 
ful  disregard  of  her  parents'  commands,  and  only  fear 
of  detection  and  punishment  would  be  able  to  restrain 
her  now,  where  from  her  earliest  recollection  a  word,  a 
wish,  had  been  her  law. 

As  the  moment  approached  when  she  must  start  if 
she  expected  to  be  at  Mossy  Bank  by  three,  the  battle 
within  grew  fiercer.  Soon  it  would  be  too  late  to  go, 
even  if  she  should  decide  on  such  a  course  in  the  teeth 
of  her  mother's  command.  Finally  she  put  on  her  hat, 
and  compromised  the  matter  by  saying  that  she  would 
go  part  of  the  way,  and  decide  what  to  do  while  she 
was  walking ;  for  she  could  turn  back  at  any  moment  if 
she  should  come  to  the  conclusion  she  ought  to  do  so. 
Thus  every  act  of  disobedience  begins  ;  and  every  such 
initiatory  act,  if  unchecked,  leads  at  last  to  dreadful 
consequences  and  often  to  irretrievable  ruin. 

But  as  the  gate  swung  to  after  Katie,  her  mother, 
who  had  kept  a  sharp  lookout  towards  her  home  from 
her  neighbor's  house,  came  to  the  fence  and  called  out : 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Katie  ?" 

The  answer  was  an  evasive  one  ;  how  could  it  have 
been  otherwise? 

"  I  told  you  not  to  leave  the  house  this  afternoon, 
and  meant  what  I  said,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Anderson, 
with  some  degree  of  sharpness.  "Go  back  to  the 
house  anU  stay  there  !  If  you  disobey  me,  I  '11  speak 
to  your  father  on  the  subject/' 

Katie  turned  back  rather  sullenly,  sad  to  say,  and 
went  into  the  house.  Poor  child !  she  had  yet  to  learn 
by  bitter  experience  that  along  the  line  of  the  strictest 
uprightness  lies  the  highest  happiness.  While  she 
could  not  help  loving  William  Manning,  she  could  have 


DISAPPOINTMENT.  275 

avoided  these  clandestine  interviews  till  such  a^time  as 
her  parents,  who  were  really  solicitous  for  her  happiness, 
could  find  it  possible  to  withdraw  their  objections  to 
his  attentions.  The  reader  may  be  sure  that  the  un 
happy  girl  was  torn  by  conflicting  emotions,  and  felt 
sad  and  forlorn  enough.  She  had  displeased  her  mother ; 
and  she  was  not  to  have  the  privilege  of  seeing  her 
lover.  If  Elizabeth  Oakford  could  have  known  exactly 
how  matters  stood  at  this  moment,  it  is  likely  she  would 
have  upbraided  herself  for  suggesting  the  meeting  of 
the  lovers  at  Mr.  Murphy's  in  defiance  of  the  parental 
authority.  It  is  certain  that  her  interference  had 
encouraged  Katie  in  disobedience,  and  that  part  of 
the  responsibility  for  the  present  situation  rested  upon 
the  shoulders  of  the  dauntless  prohibitionist.  All  of 
which  merely  shows  that  the  best  of  women  may  some 
times  make  mistakes. 

At  one  o'clock  that  afternoon,  William  Manning  sat 
in  his  office.  His  pulse  was  not  beating  with  that 
calmness  and  regularity  that  would  have  been  expected 
by  one  ignorant  of  his  proposed  meeting  with  Katie  at 
Mossy  Bank.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  never 
known  time  to  drag  along  so  slowly.  He  examined 
his  watch  about  once  in  three  minutes  ;  and  at  two 
o'clock,  unable  longer  'to  curb  his  impatient  spirit, 
thrust  his  watch  into  his  pocket,  put  on  his  hat,  and 
set  out  for  the  trysting-place.  As  he  was  about  to 
leave  the  office  a  gentleman  came  in  for  the  purpose  of 
having  him  prepare  a  guardian's  report,  for  which  he 
would  have  received  a  fee  of  from  five  to  ten  dollars. 
He  could  ill  afford  to  lose  this  fee  ;  but  on  the  other 
hand,  he  could  ill  afford  to  fail  in  his  engagement  with 
Katie.  Ten  dollars  were  as  nothing  in  the  balance 
when  weighed  against  the  pricelessness  of  an  interview 
with  her.  He  himself  had  suggested  the  time  and  the 
place.  To  keep  the  appointment  might  require  some 
sacrifice,  nay,  some  deception,  on  her  part.  His  mind, 
for  an  instant,  revolted  at  the  thought  that  he  had  be 
come  her  preceptor  in  guile.  Yet  it  was  so ;  and  there 


276  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

was  no  time  now.  for  moralizing.  Yes,  he  must  keep 
his  appointment  at  all  hazards.  So  he  told  his  client 
that  he  could  not  do  the  work  that  afternoon.  The 
gentleman  said  that  he  had  come  fifteen  miles  solely  for 
that  purpose,  and  could  not  afford  to  lose  another  day 
at  this  busy  season  of  the  year,  and  for  this  reason 
would  have  to  put  the  business  into  the  hands  of  some 
one  else. 

In  his  hurry,  Manning  was  guilty  of  unusual  negli 
gence  ;  as  a  general  rule  he  was  careful  and  orderly  in 
everything  he  did,  even  to  the  minutest  details.  On 
this  occasion,  however,  he  left  his  office  without  lock 
ing  it.  In  thirty  minutes  thereafter  the  rapid  walker 
was  at  Mossy  Bank.  He  flung  himself  down  upon  the 
ground  and  waited  till  three  o'clock.  That  hour  found 
him  still  alone  in  the  quiet  dell.  He  began  to  grow 
anxious.  He  arose  and  walked  about.  He  shied  a 
few  pebbles  into  the  creek.  Then  he  sat  down  again. 
He  had  no  care  for  the  beauty  of  the  day  or  the  pict- 
uresqueness  of  his  surroundings.  The  fleecy  clouds, 
floating  like  white  sails  in  the  skyey  seas  above,  did  not 
for  an  instant  arrest  his  eye  or  engage  his  attention. 
He  had  scarcely  realized  what  he  was  doing  when  he 
had  thrown  the  pebbles  into  the  stream.  His  mind 
was  concentrated  on  one  theme — where  was  Katie,  and 
why  was  she  not  here  ?  Now  he  thought  he  heard  a 
noise  like  the  breaking  of  dry  twigs.  Surely  she  must 
be  coming.  No,  the  footstep  was  too  heavy  for  hers. 
It  turned  out  to  be  the  tramping  of  a  Wellington 
laborer  who  was  on  his  way  further  into  the  woods, 
where  he  expected  to  spend  the  remnant  of  the  day  in 
felling  trees  and  making  posts.  A  few  words  were  ex 
changed,  and  the  man,  with  his  axe  on  his  shoulder, 
disappeared  down  the  pathway. 

William  Manning  waited  impatiently  till  four 
o'clock.  Should  he  now  return  to  his  office?  No,  he 
would  wait  longer ;  she  might  have  been  detained  for  a 
while  only,,  and  might  come  yet.  But  when  his  watch 
showed  that  it  was  half-past  four,  he  abandoned  all 


DISAPPOINTMENT.  2/7 

hope,  and,  with  sorrow  and  disappointment  in  his  heart, 
walked  slowly  back  to  the  city.  His  plan,  which  he 
had  conceived  in  hope,  had  proved  a  lamentable  fail 
ure.  Had  he  known  the  real  facts,  his  sorrow  and  dis 
appointment  would  have  been  vastly  increased. 

Now,  in  the  management  of  their  clients'  business, 
it  is  necessary  for  lawyers  to  smother  their  resentment 
and  hatred  at  times,  and  to  hold  conversation  with  one 
another,  and  even  visit  one  another's  offices,  when  non- 
professional  men,  under  the  same  circumstances,  would 
not  so  much  as  look  at  one  another.  Sometimes  lawyers 
will  quarrel  one  day,  and  walk  the  street  arm  in  arm  the 
next.  Quarreling  is  a  part  of  their  business.  But  the 
quarrel  between  Manning  and  Sawtheaire  was  not  a 
business  quarrel.  A  deep-seated  hatred  existed  be 
tween  them,  a  hatred  that  was  not  the  creature  of  a 
day,  but  a  fixed,  mutual,  unconquerable  enmity.  And 
yet  it  was  necessary  for  them  to  meet  and  have  a  cer 
tain  degree  of  intercourse  in  business  affairs. 

While  Manning  was  at  Mossy  Bank  watching 
anxiously  for  Katie's  appearance,  Sawtheaire  ascended 
the  stairway  leading  to  his  rival's  office  to  confer  with 
him  about  a  case  in  which  they  were  jointly  interested, 
and  finding  the  office  door  unlocked,  opened  the  same 
and  walked  in,  unheralded,  according  to  the  etiquette 
of  his  profession  at  Wellington.  Manning  was  not 
there.  Thinking  he  might  return  in  a  few  moments, 
Sawtheaire  sat  down  and  waited.  Manning  did  not  re 
turn.  While  he  was  sitting  there  in  idleness  it  oc 
curred  to  him  that  he  might  have  a  key  which  would 
unlock  Manning's  private  drawer.  So  he  took  out  his 
bunch  of  keys,  which,  by  the  way,  would  have  made 
a  creditable  outfit  for  a  burglar,  and  tried  the  first  one 
in  the  keyhole.  It  was  too  large.  The  next  one  was 
too  small,  and  turned  around  in  the  lock  without  pro 
ducing  any  effect.  Several  others  were  tried  without 
success.  Then  he  came  to  a  key  which  seemed  to  fit. 
He  endeavored  to  turn  it  in  the  lock.  By  shifting  the 
position  of  the  key  and  by  cautious  pres'sure  he  sue- 


2/8  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

ceeded  in  turning  back  the  bolt,  and  all  that  remained 
to  be  done  was  to  pull  the  drawer  open.  He  paused 
and  listened.  Nothing  was  heard  save  the  ordinary 
noises  from  the  street.  He  opened  the  drawer.  There 
lay  a  letter.  Now  a  man  who  had  a  fine  sense  of  hon 
or  would  not  have  opened  that  letter ;  but  to  go  further 
back,  a  man  who  had  any  sense  of  honor  at  all  would 
not  have  opened  the  drawer.  All  these  premises  are 
reconciled  by  the  statement  that  Sawtheaire  had  no 
idea  of  the  existence  of  such  a  nondescript  quality  as 
honor.  So  he  opened  the  drawer  and  took  up  the  let 
ter  as  unblushingly  as  he  would  have  taken  a  slice  of 
bread  at  his  boarding-house. 

First,  he  examined  the  envelope.  It  was  addressed 
to  "William  Manning,  Esq.,  Wellington,  111.,"  and 
was  postmarked  "  Cincinnati,  Ohio,"  and  must  have 
been  received  within  the  last  two  or  three  days.  The 
address  was  evidently  written  by  a  woman.  Having 
possessed  himself  of  these  facts,  he  opened  the  letter 
and  read  as  follows  : 

"  DEAREST  WILLIAM  : — I  arrived  at  Cincinnati  this  morning,  and 
feel  quite  tired  after  my  long  ride.  Dear  old  sweetheart!  I  am  almost 
crazy  to  see  you!  And  inasmuch  as  I  can  not  wait  much  longer  to  see 
you,  and  dare  not  go  to  Wellington,  I  have,  after  due  consideration,  and 
with  papa's  approval,  made  up  my  mind  what  to  do.  I  '11  visit  here  a 
few  days,  and  then  expect  to  go  to  Kansas  City.  Instead  of  going 
through  St.  Louis,  I  am  going  through  Peoria,  and  expect  to  be  compen 
sated  for  my  loss  of  time  and  additional  expense,  by  getting  one  glimpse 
of  your  dear  old  face  and  a  precious  kiss  or  two.  I  '11  pass  through 
Peoria  next  Monday  afternoon,  and  understand  I  '11  have  two  or  three 
hours  between  trains.  Meet  me  at  the  depot  without  fail — mind  me,  Sir 
•  William,  without  fail,  vt  I'll  never  forgive  you.  I  have  much  to  tell 
you,  more  than  I  can  write  or  would  dare  to  write. 

"  I  can  hardly  wait  till  next  Monday.     Excuse  this  scrawl. 

"Yours  lovingly,  BESSIE." 

"Ah!"'  thought  Sawtheaire,  as  he  finished  the 
perusal  of  the  letter,  "the  plot  thickens.  Here  is  Bessie 
again  ;  and  who  in  the  world  is  this  Bessie  ?  Where 
does  she  live,  and  what  is  her  full  name?  Whatever 
else  may  be  said,  the  relation  between  her  and  Man 
ning  is  a  warm  one.  She  must  be  a  vile  woman  or  else 
his  affianced.  No  one  else  would  dare  to  write  as  she 


DISAPPOINTMENT. 

has.  Well,  I  've  sworn  I  would  unravel  the  mystery 
that  surrounds  this  fellow,  and  I  '11  perform  that  vow. 
I  '11  set  myself  to  work  presently  on  these  little  trails,  and 
find  out  where  they  lead.  Without  your  leave,  Mr. 
Manning,  I  '11  keep  your  letter.  I  have  a  use  for  it, 
and  you  need  never  miss  it.  At  any  rate,  you  know 
the  time  and  place  for  meeting  Bessie,  and  that  ought 
to  be  sufficient. " 

So  he  put  the  letter  in  his  pocket,  and  resumed  his 
examination  of  the  contents  of  the  drawer.  He  found 
briefs  and  other  legal  documents,  but  in  none  of  these 
was  he  especially  interested.  Finally  he  turned  up 
another  letter  addressed  in  William  Manning's  own 
handwriting  to  Henry  Anderson.  The  envelope  had 
not  been  sealed.  Sawtheaire  took  this  letter  out  and 
read  it.  The  contents  were  as  follows  : 

"MR.  HENRY  ANDERSON  : — For  reasons  which  are  wholly  unjust, 
and  which  I  have  learned  without  any  word  or  communication  from  you, 
you  have,  as  I  believe,  been  endeavoring  to  arouse  in  your  wife  and 
daughter  most  unfounded  prejudice  against  me.  I  believe  you  have  been 
instigated  to  this  course  by  the  infamous  lies  and  insinuations  of  Lyman 
Sawtheaire.  You  have  acted  upon  his  statements,  and  disregarded  my 
manner  of  life,  which  I  am  happy  to  say  ought  to  turn  the  scales  largely 
in  my  favor.  I  ask  you — have  I  not  borne  a  good  reputation  in  this  com 
munity,  and  conducted  myself  with  decorum  towards  man  and  woman  ? 
If  I  have,  why  do  you  pursue  this  unkind  and  harmful  course  towards 
me  ?  What  reason  can  you  give  in  justification  of  your  conduct  ?  I 
think  1  know  what  your  pretended  reasons  are,  but  they  are  no  justifi 
cation,  and  you  know  it.  I  have  borne  with  you  till  forbearance  ceases 
to  be  a  virtue.  I  am  tired  of  being  maligned  and  misrepresented.  You 
have  carried  your  feelings  to  the  extent  of  unjustly  forbidding  all  inter 
course  on  my  part  with  your  family,  and  yet,  with  striking  .inconsistency, 
have  thrown  open  your  parlor  door  to  that  infamous  scoundrel,  Sawthe 
aire.  Of  course  you  have  control  of  your  own  house,  and  can  arbitrarily 
bar  me  out,  and  I  remain  withouf*remedy.  But  I  am  not  without  remedy 
for  other  wrongs  which  you  are  doing  me.  Nor  do  I  need  to  appeal  to 
the  law ;  I  can  right  my  own  wrongs.  Bear  that  in  mind. 

"  Understand  me,  that  I  expect  your  misrepresentations  of  me  to 
cease.  They  must  cease.  So  must  Sawtheaire's.  I  '11  attend  to  him  in 
due  season.  But  I  'm  writing  to  you  now;  and  I  give  you  to  understand 
that  I'll  commence  no  slander  suits  —  my  good  right  arm  shall  be  my 
avenger.  /  mean  -what  I  say  ;  and  shall  hold  myself  ready  to  defend  my 
words. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  WILLIAM  MANNING." 


28O  A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

Now  this  letter  had  been  written  on  the  same  day 
when  William  Manning  had  writen  to  Katie  that  un 
kind  communication  which  had  given  her  such  serious 
offense,  and  had  well-nigh  resulted  disastrously  for  the 
lovers.  At  the  time,  the  writer  was  hardly  responsible 
for  his  words.  He  had  seen  Sawtheaire  and  Katie  to 
gether  in  the  buggy  as  they  returned  from  the  Sunday- 
school  picnic,  and  in  the  heat  of  the  moment  had 
written  Katie  a  severe  and  ungenerous  letter,  and  had 
afterwards  written  to  her  father  this  very  foolish  and 
discourteous  letter,  The  message  to  Katie  had  been 
delivered ;  the  communication  to  her  father  had  not. 
After  his  excitement  had  given  place  to  sober  thinking, 
he  had  resolved  to  destroy  the  letter.  He  had  neg 
lected  to  do  so,  however,  and  now  the  letter  had  come 
into  the  hands  of  his  enemy  as  a  link  in  the  chain  which 
was  about  to  bind  the  unfortunate  young  man,  hand 
and  foot. 

"  I  may  want  that  letter,"  said  Sawtheaire.  "It  is 
a  flattering  testimonial  to  my  integrity.  At  any  rate, 
I  '11  take  it  with  me.  This  visit  has  proved  a  windfall 
for  me." 

He  was  startled  by  a  noise  on  the  stairway.  Hastily 
locking  the  drawer,  and  thrusting  his  keys  into  his 
pocket,  he  opened  the  door,  and  stepped  into  the  hall. 
There  he  met  a  stranger  who  asked  him  if  he  knew 
where  Mr.  Manning  was. 

"That  I  do  not,"  said  Sawtheaire.  "I  have  just 
looked  into  his  office  to  see  him,  and  found  the  office 
deserted." 

They  went  their  respective  ways,  neither  caring 
what  was  the  business  of  the  other. 

"I  have  the  means  at  last,"  thought  Sawtheaire, 
"to  settle  this  love  affair  between  Manning  and  Katie. 
She  is  too  high-strung  to  give  him  another  thought 
after  she  reads  this  letter  from  dear  Miss  Bessie.  I  must 
hunt  up  Anderson  at  once.  Fortune  smiles  upon  me, 
and  I  '11  enjoy  her  smiles  while  I  can." 


CHAPTER  XVIII.      <• 

CRUEL    BLOWS. 

The  day  alter  Lyman  Sawtheaire  had  abstracted 
the  two  letters  from  his  rival's  private  drawer,  he 
met  Henry  Anderson  on  the  street  and  invited  that 
gentleman  to  his  office  for  an  important  private  conver 
sation. 

Seated  comfortably  in  the  lawyer's  sanctum,  they  dis 
cussed  for  some  time  the  political  situation,  and  espe 
cially  the  pending  contest  for  the  State's  attorney's 
office,  in  which  Lyman  Sawtheaire  had  so  deep  a  per 
sonal  interest. 

"I  am  happy  to  know  that  I  am  enlisted  on  the 
right  side,"  said  Henry  Anderson,  after  they  had  well 
nigh  exhausted  this  theme.  "  You  know,  Sawtheaire, 
that  I  hesitated  at  first ;  I  asked  time  for  consideration. 
Manning  had  risked  his  life  to  save  my  daughter,  and  I 
disliked  to  take  the  field  against  him ;  I  was  really  puz 
zled  to  know  what  to  do.  Then  he  appeared  to  be  a 
decent  sort  of  a  fellow,  and  the  women  liked  him, 
and  you  see  I  was  effectually  cornered  ;  and  the  fact 
is,  when  I  did  agree  to  support  you,  for  the  good  of 
the  party,  as  you  know,  my  conscience  pinched  me  a 
little,  for  I  myself  liked  the  fellow,  and  felt  that  I  owed 
him  much." 

' '  It  was  a  great  sacrifice,  I  well  know, ' '  interrupted 
Sawtheaire,  taking  his  cigar  out  of  his  mouth,  and  hold 
ing  it  as  tenderly  as  he  would  a  sugar-plum.  "Yes,  it 
was  a  great  sacrifice,  worthy  of  those  who  are  able  to 
subordinate  personal  feeling  to  the  public  good  !  The 
same  spirit  which  animated  the  noble  Brutus,  when  he 
condemned  his  traitorous  sons  to  tte  scourged  and  be 
headed  !  Mr.  Anderson,  I  do  n't  say  it  to  flatter  you, 
but  I  will  say  I  have  never  seen  a  higher  type  of  devo 
tion  to  party  than  yours  !" 


2§2  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY; 

"Well,  I  do  take  some  pride  in  my  political  rec 
ord,"  said  Henry  Anderson,  sitting  just  a  little  more 
erect  than  before.  ' '  I  think  I  told  you  once  I  had  never 
scratched  a  ticket.  Few  men  of  my  age  can  truthfully 
say  as  much.  I  have  stuck  by  the  party  through  suc 
cess  and  adversity,  and  I  pledge  myself  that  as  long  as 
I  can  hobble,  I  '11  go  to  the  polls  and  vote  the  ticket 
just  as  it's  printed." 

"Would  you  vote  for  Manning,  if  he  should  be 
nominated?" 

"Vote  for  Manning?  Why  not?  Certainly  I 
would,  and  work  for  him,  too !  At  the  polls  my  vote 
\sprobonopublico.  Excuse  a  little  Latin,  Sawtheaire; 
it  comes  handy  sometimes.  There  can  be  no  good  to 
the  public  from  a  man  who  does  n't  belong  to  our 
party." 

"And  yet  I  know  you  dislike  Manning?" 

"  Dislike  him?  You  put  it  mildly,  Mr.  Sawtheaire. 
As  a  man,  I  hate  him  ;  but  as  a  member  of  our  party, 
I  honor  him.  He 's  a  villain  in  everything  but  politics, 
and  there  he  's  as  sound  as  a  dollar.  If  he  belonged  to 
the  other  party,  he  'd  be  clean  gone — a  villain  through 
and  through." 

"Still,  while  you  respect  him  as  a  politician,  you 
would  hardly  ask  him  into  your  parlor?" 

"Never!  never!  I  opposed  him  at  first  with  some 
qualms  of  conscience  ;  but  as  1  have  come  to  know  him 
better,  I  have  learned  to  oppose  him  as  a  matter  of 
gratification  to  my  feelings.  I  have  learned  to  loathe 
him — to  hate  him.  If  he  should  get  the  nomination,  I 
fear  I  'd  have  to  take  to  my  bed." 

"  But  you  would  vote  for  him  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  certainly.  I  'd  sacrifice  my  personal  feel 
ings  for  the  general  good." 

"  I  admire  you,  Mr.  Anderson,  for  your  loyalty  to 
our  party.  At  the  same  time  I  admire  you  for  the 
strong  judgment,  that  keen  insight  into  human  nature 
which  has  enabled  you  to  look  through  the  rind  and 
pulp  to  the  ver,y  core  of  this  despicable  scoundrel. 


CRUEL    BLOWS.  283 

One  reason  for  asking  you  to  my  office  was  to  show 
you  one  of  Manning's  letters  which  I  have  found,  in 
which  he  passes  some  encomiums  on  you  and  me  ;  and 
also  a  letter  written  to  dear  William  by  loving  Bessie, 
which  will  show  very  clearly  that  you  have  done  right 
in  refusing  him  the  privilege  of  visiting  your  daughter. 
Here  are  the  letters — read  them,  if  you  like.  I  would 
not  have  shown  them  to  you  but  for  the  deep  interest 
I  feel  in  the  welfare  of  yourself  and  family." 

Mr.  Anderson  read  the  letters  through  carefully, 
and  then  exclaimed : 

' '  Why,  the  rascal  and  Bessie  must  be  engaged  !  See 
these  words,  Sawtheaire, —  'dearest  William,'  'dear 
old  sweetheart, '  '  dear  old  face, '  '  precious  kiss  or 
two ' — great  goodness  !  that 's  enough  !  And  this  scoun 
drel,  engaged,  enveloped  in  mystery,  seeking  to  make 
love  to  my  Katie — " 

"He  may  not  be  engaged    to   Bessie,  Mr.  Ander 
son,"  interrupted  Sawtheaire  ;     "there  may  be  simply 
a  liaison  between  them.     She  may  be  a  lewd  character, 
you  know,  and  Mr.  Manning  may  be  free  to  contract 
and  to  marry  so  far  as  Bessie  is  concerned." 

"  How  does  that  mend  matters  ?  If  that  be  the 
case,  he  's  a  double-dyed  villain.  Sawtheaire,  if  I  catch 
him  about  my  place  again,  I  '11  take  a  shot-gun — " 

"  Not  so  fast,  Mr.  Anderson.  You  would  get  your 
self  into  trouble.  This  problem  can  be  satisfactorily 
solved  in  some  other  way." 

There  was  silence  for  a  time.  Possibly  each  of  them 
was  thinking  of  other  ways  for  working  out  the  desired 
result.  Henry  Anderson  arose  and  buttoned  his  coat. 

"  Let  me  take  Bessie's  letter,"  he  said.  "  I  need  no 
proofs  for  myself,  but  I  need  them  for  my  family.  I 
want  my  wife  and  daughter  to  read  this  letter." 

This  was  what  Sawtheaire  wanted  ;  and  after  a 
little  feigned  reluctance,  Mr.  Anderson's  request  was 
granted. 

As  a  suitable  conclusion  to  this  interview,  the  at 
torney  produced  a  flask  of  genuine  Kentucky  brandy, 


284  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

which  he  kept  for  medicinal  purposes,  and  invited  his 
companion  to  drink.  If  this  invitation  had  been  given 
when  Henry  Anderson  first  entered  the  office,  it  is 
probable  that  his  good  resolutions  would  have  pre 
vailed  against  the  temptation.  Not  so  now,  however. 
He  was  an  easy  prey  to  the  tempter.  He  was  excited, 
even  angry.  He  was  armed  with  additional  proof  of 
Manning's  duplicity,  and  was  intending  to  lay  the  proof 
before  his  family  without  delay.  There  might  be  a 
conflict  on  the  subject  between  himself  and  his  wife  or 
his  daughter,  and  he  desired  to  manifest  the  firmness 
and  sternness  of  an  executioner  during  any  discussion 
that  might  arise.  "  I  may  need  a  little  priming  !"  he 
thought.  So  he  turned  up  the  flask  and  took  a  large 
draught  of  brandy,  and  then,  with  increasing  anger 
towards  Manning,  left  the  office. 

The  taste  of  liquor  stimulated  his  appetite,  and  he 
"primed"  himself  at  every  saloon  he  passed  as  he 
wended  his  way  home;  so  that  when  he  crossed  his 
threshold,  and  called  aloud  for  Mrs.  Anderson  and 
Katie,  he  was  feeling  the  effect  of  his  potations  enough 
to  be  boisterous  and  quarrelsome.  Mrs.  Anderson, 
with  sadness  of  heart,  saw  his  deplorable  condition. 
All  his  good  resolutions  had  been  broken  again.  His 
appetite  for  strong  drink  was  gaining  the  mastery,  and 
a  drunkard's  grave  was  yawning  for  him  at  the  end  of 
his  journey  of  life. 

She  read,  in  silence,  the  letter  handed  her  by  her 
husband.  Poor  woman  !  she  was  beginning  to  lose 
confidence  in  humanity.  A  few  months  ago,  if  she 
had  been  required  to  select  out  of  all  the  world  the  best 
examples  of  purity,  truthfulness  and  integrity,  she 
would  have  named  her  husband,  her  daughter,  and 
William  Manning.  Now  she  saw  her  husband  on  the 
highway  to  drunkenness  and  ruin  ;  her  daughter,  turn 
ing  from  a  pure,  innocent  girlhood  into  a  career  of 
duplicity  and  disobedience  ;  and  William  Manning 
transformed  from  a  noble,  upright  youth  into  a  hideous, 
despicable  monster. 


CRUEL    BLOWS.  28 5 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  the  letter?"  she 
asked. 

"  Going  to  do  with  it  ?  What  do  you  reckon  ?  I  'm 
going  to  show  it  to  Katie." 

"  Do  you  think  it  the  best  course  to  show  her  the 
letter  now?  " 

"  I  don't  think  anything  about  it ;  I  know  it." 

"You  know  she  is  going  to  Kentucky  in  a  few 
days;  and  inasmuch  as  she  and  Mr.  Manning  are  to  be 
separated  for  several  weeks,  it  seemed  to  me  she  might 
be  spared  further  pain  just  now.  I  fear  this  letter  will 
cause  her  great  pain." 

"She  shall  read  this  letter,  madam,  pain  or  no  pain. 
Do  you  hear  ?  She  shall  read  this  letter.  Katie  ! 
Katie!"  he  called;  then  turning  to  his  wife  he  asked 
harshly:  "  Where  is  that  girl,  Mrs.  Anderson?" 

"She  has  gone  over  to  Squire  Ingleside's  to  see 
Jennie." 

Without  another  word,  Henry  Anderson  abruptly 
left  the  house  and  started  in  the  direction  of  the 
Squire's.  He  had  gone  but  a  short  distance,  when  he 
saw  his  daughter  and  William  Manning  standing  on  the 
sidewalk  together,  engaged  apparently  in  earnest  con 
versation. 

"I  suppose  you  are  aware,  sir,  that  I  have  prohib 
ited  all  intercourse  between  yourself  and  my  daughter," 
said  Anderson  haughtily  and  angrily,  as  he  approached 
the  place  where  the  lovers  stood. 

"  I  have  had  some  intimation  to  that  effect,"  was 
the  quiet  answer. 

Katie  was  completely  unnerved.  She  leaned  against 
the  fence  for  support. 

"  You  are  no  gentleman,  sir  !  you  are  no  gentleman, 
or  you  would  cease  your  attention  to  my  daughter." 

"  Henry  Anderson  is  not  my  judge  in  this  matter." 

"I'll  show  you  that  I  am  your  judge,  sir,"  cried 
Mr.  Anderson  furiously.  "I'll  show  you — I'll  beat 
you,  if  I  ever  find  you  with  my  daughter  again.  Do 
you  hear  me?  " 


286  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

William  Manning's  temper  began  to  rise,  but  he  re 
pressed  his  anger  and  answered  as  calmly  as  possible : 

"  You  '11  never  beat  me,  Mr.  Anderson." 

"  I  '11  horsewhip  you,  you  scoundrel !  " 

' '  You  '11  never  horsewhip  me,  Mr.  Anderson.  Now 
hear  rne  a  moment.  You  're  a  burly  farmer,  but  I  can 
mash  you  into  the  ground,  and  you  know  it.  Do  n't 
you  touch  me,  Mr.  Anderson.  Do  n't  you  draw  a 
whip  on  me.  For  your  daughter's  sake,  I  do  n't  want 
to  quarrel  with  you,  much  less  to  fight  you  ;  but  I  as 
sure  you  I  never  run,  and  know  very  well  how  to  de 
fend  myself." 

During  this  heated  altercation  Manning  had  main 
tained  admirable  control  over  his  temper,  but  his  cool 
ness  had  only  served  to  exasperate  Mr.  Anderson. 

"Prepare  to  defend  yourself,  sir,  if  you  are  ever 
caught  with  my  daughter  again,"  the  latter  said  fierce 
ly.  "Come,  Katie,  you'll  go  home  with  me,  miss. 
I  '11  settle  accounts  with  you  in  short  order." 

Katie  had  been  greatly  agitated  all  this  time,  not 
only  on  her  own  account,  but  because  she  had  feared  a 
violent  encounter  between  her  father  and  lover.  Added 
to  her  agitation  was  a  keen  sense  of  mortification  over 
this  public  exhibition  of  their  family  affairs.  The 
women  of  the  neighborhood  were  peeping  out  from  be 
hind  the  window  curtains,  and  the  men  were  standing 
in  their  gardens  leaning  on  their  hoes  and  rakes.  The 
conversation  had  been  loud  and  animated,  and  not  a 
syllable  had  escaped  the  prurient  ears  of  the  curious. 
Katie  felt  that  she  was  completely  disgraced. 

Manning  was  in  a  quandary  as  to  what  he  ought  to 
do.  Should  he  follow  Mr.  Anderson  and  save  the 
daughter  from  corporal  punishment?  He  had  no  war 
rant  for  so  doing,  save  his  love  for  her,  and  that  would 
be  no  legal  justification.  Moreover,  his  intercessions  or 
interference  might  inflame  the  partly  intoxicated  father 
so  much  the  more,  and  augment  Katie's  distress  and 
danger.  On  the  whole,  he  deemed  it  best  for  him  not 
to  attempt  to  interfere, 


CRUEL    BLOWS.  28/ 

"Mr.  Anderson,"  began  Manning,  as  the  father 
and  daughter  were  walking  away,  ' '  I  want  to  assure 
you  that  your  daughter  is  in  no  way  responsible  for  my 
meeting  her  here.  We  met  by  accident,  and  had  not 
conversed  on  any  interdicted  subject  when  you  came 
up.  You  should  wreak  your  vengeance  on  me,  sir." 

"  Attend  to  your  own  business,  William  Manning, 
and  I  '11  attend  mine,"  was  the  abrupt  answer. 

Manning  went  to  his  office ;  Mr.  Anderson  and 
Katie  went  home. 

The  father  sat  down  and  considered  what  course 
to  pursue.  At  first  he  had  intended  to  punish  Katie 
with  the  rod  ;  but  the  vestiges  of  manhood  yet  re 
maining  in  him  revolted  at  the  idea  of  punishing  a 
young  woman  as  he  would  a  little  child.  A  more  co 
gent  reason  than  this,  however,  was  the  thought  that 
Katie  could  not  be  conquered  by  force.  She  had  a 
strong  will  of  her  own,  and  could  not  be  driven. 
So  he  endeavored  to  reason  with  her  and  to  persuade 
her  to  abandon  every  thought  of  one  who  was  mani 
festly  unworthy  of  her.  But  Katie  was  not  easily  con 
vinced. 

"I  think  you  are  prejudiced  against  him,  father, " 
she  said. 

The  word  prejudice  and  the  brandy  he  had  swal 
lowed,  together,  so  fired  his  passion  that  he  arose  and 
slapped  his  daughter,  who  was  still  standing,  and  shook 
her  violently  till  she  cried  aloud  from  pain.  Mrs.  An 
derson  ran  into  the  room,  and,  seeing  the  evidences  of 
her  husband's  violence  towards  the  poor  girl  she  yet  so 
tenderly  loved,  cried  out  in  anguish : 

' '  Oh,  Henry  !  how  can  you  be  so  cruel  ?  Poor 
child!  come  to  your  mother!"  And  she  took  her 
daughter  into  her  loving  arms  and  kissed  her  tingling 
cheek.  As  she  raised  her  head  from  that  tender  kiss, 
Henry  Anderson  flew  to  her  side  and  hissed  rather 
than  spoke : 

"I'll  teach  you,  madam,  to  interfere — to  inter 
fere — "  and  he  struck  his  wife  a  passionate  blow  with 


288  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

his  open  hand,  which  sent  her  reeling  across  the  room 
against  a  table,  and  from  the  effect  of  which  she  did 
not  recover  herself  for  a  moment. 

James  came  into  the  house  from  the  barn,  and  hear 
ing  angry  voices,  sprang  into  the  room  as  Mrs.  Ander 
son  was  hurled  against  the  table.  In  an  instant  he 
threw  his  arms  around  his  mother  and  helped  her  to 
her  feet. 

"  Leave  this  room,  sir  !  "  cried  Mr.  Anderson,  grow 
ing  more  violent.  "Leave  at  once,  I  say!"  But 
James  confronted  him  —  wonder  of  wonders  !  His 
cheeks  were  on  fire,  his  lips  quivered  with  anger,  his 
hands  worked  convulsively.  The  large,  stalwart  youth 
stepped  in  front  of  his  mother  and  sister,  up  within 
striking  distance  of  his  father,  and  said : 

"  If  you  strike  mother  again,  I  '11  —  I  '11  hurt  you." 

Henry  Anderson  fell  back  in^amazement.  He  had 
never  dreamed  of  such  antagonism  from  his  son.  James 
had  been  regarded  by  his  father  as  almost  destitute  of 
that  spirit  which  would  prompt  a  man  to  resent  an 
affront  even  to  himself.  But  here  he  was,  a  defiant,  in 
dignant  man,  threatening  his  own  father,  with  the  bold 
ness  of  a  lion,  if  that  father  dared  again  to  lay  a  vio 
lent  hand  on  the  wife  and  mother.  The  indignity 
offered  to  Mrs.  Anderson  had  aroused  his  slumbering 
manhood,  and  James  Anderson  from  this  moment  on 
was  not  a  boy.  The  revolution  in  his  character,  which 
had  begun  at  the  time  of  his  first  acquaintance  with 
Elizabeth,  was  this  day  consummated. 

James  advanced  towards  his  father ;  and  that  father 
fell  back  before  the  son's  flashing  eyes  and  menacing 
attitude. 

"Father,  I  love  you,  respect  you,  when  you  are 
sober,  but  I  love  mother  more ;  and  if  you  ever  strike 
mother  again,  I  '11 — " 

"O  James!  James !"  cried  Mrs.  Anderson,  spring 
ing  forward,  and  seizing  his  uplifted  arm,  "don't  touch 
your  father!  He  is  not  himself  to-day!  He's  not  re 
sponsible  for  what  he  has  done  !  Don't — do  n't  strike 


CRUEL    BLOWS.  289 

your  father!"     At  his  mother's  touch  James  became 
quiet. 

Henry  Anderson  sank  into  a  chair  and  buried  his 
face  in  his  hands.  He  was  thoroughly  cowed  now,  not 
from  any  fear  of  violence  to  himself,  but  because  of  the 
wonderful  transformation  in  his  son,  and  an  overwhelm 
ing  sense  of  shame  for  what  he  had  done. 

"  O  Henry !  Henry !  "  said  Mrs.  Anderson  piteously, 
as  she  threw  herself  at  her  husband's  feet  and  laid  her 
head  upon  his  knees,  ' '  you  have  broken  your  promise 
again !  O  God !  what  shall  I  do  ?  what  shall  I  do  ? 
Twenty-one  years  we  have  lived  together,  and  you  have 
never  struck  me  till  now.  It  is  that  cursed,  cursed 
liquor  you 've  been  drinking!"  She  sobbed  like  her 
heart  was  breaking ;  but  her  husband  sat  there,  crouch 
ing  down,  shrunken  together,  with  his  face  still  buried 
in  his  hands. 

Meanwhile  Katie  picked  up  the  letter  which  her 
father  had  thrown  down.  She  opened  it  and  read  it 
calmly.  Then  she  read  it  again,  and  again,  till  every 
word  had  burned  its  way  into  her  brain.  She  noted 
every  loving  expression.  She  looked  with  an  empty 
stare  at  the  signature,  "Bessie."  She  examined  the 
envelope.  Forgetting  all  else,  she  laid  the  letter  down 
upon  the  floor  and,  walking  as  if  in  a  trance,  went  to 
her  own  room  and  locked  the  door  behind  her.  If  the 
angel  of  death  had  confronted  her  with  his*  dreadful 
summons,  she  could  not  have  felt  so  utterly  lost  and 
undone. 

In  the  sitting-room,  Mrs.  Anderson  continued  her 
moaning  and  sobbing  and  incoherent  utterances.  James 
was  touched  as  he  had  never  been  before. 

"Oh,  what  a  curse  is  rum!  "  he  thought.  "Great 
God!  what  an  idler  I  have  been,  and  so  much  to  do! 
What  a  loss  of  precious  time  !  I  '11  fight  no  past  battles  ; 
I  '11  prepare  to  fight  the  evils  of  the  day.  I  swear  eternal 
vengeance  against  this  enemy  of  peace  and  happiness." 
He  knelt  by  his  mother's  side  and  put  one  arm  around 
her  sobbing  form  and  the  other  around  his  father's  neck. 


^.90  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"  Forgive  me,  father, "  he  said.  "I  know  it  was 
the  demon  in  you  that  prompted  you  to  strike  mother. 
It  wasn't  your  own  act."  Still  Henry  Anderson  sat 
speechless  and  motionless.  Then  his  breast  began  to 
heave  convulsively.  Then  the  fountains  of  the  deep 
were  broken  up,  and  he  bent  still  lower,  and  cried  like 
a  child.  At  last  James  said  : 

"Father,  I've  been  wayward  and  disobedient,  and 
tried  your  patience  many  a  time,  I  know.  But  I  see 
everything  in  a  new  light  now.  I  make  my  solemn 
promise  to  be  a  man  and  to  live  for  useful  ends,  if  you  '11 
promise  me,  father — if  you  '11  promise  me  never  to  drink 
another  drop  of  liquor.  Oh,  why  will  you  do  so  ?  It 
will  ruin  you  !  it  will  kill  mother !  it  will  break  up  out- 
home  !  " 

"I  know  it!  I  know  it !"  said  Mr.  Anderson, 
pleadingly.  "  I  've  tried  to  resist,  but  I  can  't!  I  can  't! 
Oh,  if  it  was  only  out  of  my  sight !  I  resolve,  and  hold 
out  for  awhile,  and  could  hold  out  right  along  if  the 
temptation  was  n't  always  in  my  way !  Oh,  these 
cursed  saloons  ! — they  're  damning  me  and  my  family  !" 

"Try  again,  father!  try  again!  for  our  sakes,  for 
your  own  sake  !  I  '11  help  you  !  I  '11  help  you  fight  them 
off!" 

"My  son,  what  is  the  use  of  trying?  I  used  to 
think  I  was  strong — a  man.  of  iron  will — and  could  con 
trol  myself.  I  boasted  that  I  could  drink  a  glass,  and 
then  stop.  O  God !  what  a  mistake !  James,  touch 
not,  taste  not — there  's  no  safety  in  any  other  creed. 
God  knows  I  am  lost ;  and  the  sooner  I  am  out  of  the 
way,  the  better  for  me  and  my  family. " 

"  Oh,  no  !  no !  no  !  "  sobbed  the  trembling  wife. 

"  Father,  you  must  cheer  up  and  try  again  !  We  '11 
help  you!  You  can  conquer  yet." 

Then  the  young  man  kissed  his  mother's  tear-stained 
cheek,  and  his  father's  brow,  and  put  the  arm  of  the 
husband  around  the  wife ;  and  when  Henry  Anderson 
drew  his  faithful  companion  close  to  himself,  and  pite- 
ously  begged  her  forgiveness,  and  she  tenderly  granted 


CRUEL    BLOWS. 

it,  James  quietly  withdrew  from  the  room,  and  went 
forth  into  the  open  air,  no  longer  a  thoughtless  youth, 
but  a  thoughful  man,  with  a  grand  conception  of  a 
possible  mission  in  life.  He  thought  of  a  home  where 
harmony  had  prevailed,  where  love  had  ruled  in  every 
heart.  He  beheld  that  home  abandoned  and  a  new  one 
in  the  city  acquired.  He  saw  the  new  home  well  nigh 
desolated  and  turned  into  a  house  of  mourning.  He 
knew  that  this  sad  change  had  been  wrought  by  the 
demon  Alcohol.  And  he  vowed  in  the  presence  of 
God  to  do  what  he  could  that  this  murderer  of  peace, 
happiness  and  love  might  be  brought  to  .judgment,  and 
cast  out  forever  from  civilized  society. 

Katie  did  not  appear  at  the  supper-table  that  even 
ing.  She  pleaded  a  headache,  and  was  therefore  ex 
cused.  After  supper  her  mother  took  her  a  cup  of  tea 
and  a  slice  of  toast,  and  spoke  a  few  words  intended  to 
be  words  of  consolation,  informing  her  of  her  father's 
repentance,  and  telling  her  that  he  had  sent  a  request 
for  her  forgiveness.  This  Katie  granted  in  a  perfunctory 
manner ;  and  Mrs.  Anderson  kissed  her  child  and  left 
her  alone  for  the  night. 

Katie  was  generally  an  early  riser,  not  only  that  she 
might  assist  her  mother  in  her  preparations  for  break 
fast,  but  also  that  she  might 

"  enjoy 

The  cool,  the  fragrant,  and  the  silent  hour, 
To  meditation  due  and  sacred  song." 

She  was  not  up  with  the  lark  the  next  morning, 
however.  Her  parents  felt  no  alarm  ;  they  thought 
she  might  be  exhausted  with  the  events  of  the  day 
before,  but  would  be  dressed  by  the  time  breakfast 
was  ready.  So  when  the  table  was  ready,  Mrs.  Ander 
son  went  into  the  hall,  and  called  Katie ;  but  there  was 
no  answer.  She  went  upstairs  and  knocked  at  the 
door  of  her  room.  Still  .no  answer.  She  opened  the 
door.  No  one  was  within,  and  the  bed  had  not  been 
occupied.  Thoroughly  alarmed  now,  she  called  her 
husband  and  James,  and  told  them  that  Katie  was  gone, 


A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

A  glance  at  the  undisturbed  bed  confirmed  that  state 
ment.  Further  search  revealed  the  fact  that  her  purse 
and  valise,  with  certain  articles  of  clothing,  had  also 
disappeared.  And  now  Mr.  Anderson  remembered 
that  he  had  foun  1  the  outside  door  of  the  sitting-room 
unlocked  that  morning,  and  thought  he  must  have  for 
gotten  to  lock  it  on  retiring  the  evening  before. 

Mr.  Anderson  and  James  seized  their  hats  and  set 
out  to  make  inquiries,  leaving  the  distracted  mother  to 
hunt  for  clews  about  the  premises  ;  but  when  at  noon 
they  all  met  at  home  again,  it  was  only  to  report  to  one 
another  the  fruitless  results  of  their  search.  Mrs. 
Anderson  was  almost  wild  with  fear  and  grief,  and  at 
last  gave  up  and  went  to  bed.  Inquiries  at  the  depot 
developed  the  fact  that  Katie  had  not  taken  the  train 
there.  Search  was  made  throughout  the  city  and  sur 
rounding  country,  and  telegrams  were  sent  hither  and 
thither,  but  all  without  avail.  William  Manning  was  in 
Wellington,  and  therefore  she  had  not  eloped  with  him. 
Great  was  the  commotion  throughout  the  city;  and 
when  the  lights  were  put  out,  and  the  people  of  Wel 
lington  retired  to  rest  that  night,  Katie  had  not  been 
found,  and  there  were  those  who  thought  she  had  taken 
her  own  life.  William  Manning  thought  it  possible ; 
and  her  father,  mother  and  brother,  though  without 
breathing  their  belief  to  one  another,  thought  it  prob 
able,  and  that  they  would  never  see  their  darling  alive 
again. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

AT   THE   GATES   OF    DEATH. 

As  we  have  seen,  after  Katie  had  read  Bessie's  let 
ter,  she  locked  herself  up  in  the  solitude  of  her  own 
room.  Her  arm  still  ached  where  her  father  had 
pinched  her,  and  her  cheek  still  smarted  where  he  had 
struck  her,  and  the  indignation  he  had  aroused  still 
burned  within  her  breast ;  bat  above  all  these,  and  sub 
ordinating  all  else  for  the  time  being,  were  the  dreadful 
feelings  now  almost  choking  her,  which  had  been  en 
gendered  by  the  cruel  letter  she  had  read  during  the 
progress  of  the  quarrel  below.  Her  agony  was  too  great 
to  find  relief  in  tears.  She  sat  by  the  table  as  motion 
less  as  the  objects  around  her,  till  her  mother's  knock 
at  the  door  called  her  to  her  feet.  She  unlocked  the 
door,  and  received  mechanically  the  cup  of  tea  and  the 
savory  toast  her  mother  had  brought  her,  and  answered 
her  questions  in  an  uninterested  manner.  After  her 
mother  had  gone,  she  set  the  tea  and  toast  on  the  table, 
and  resumed,  or  rather  continued,  her  painful  medita 
tions.  She  had  trusted  William  Manning  implicitly  from 
the  very  first,  and  had  resented  with  indignation  every 
insinuation  of  evil  against  his  fair  name ;  she  had  be 
lieved  him  to  be  pure  and  true,  and  had  promised  that 
she  would  love  him  and  trust  him  still,  whatever  might 
happen ;  she  had  brought  upon  herself  her  father's  dis 
pleasure,  yes,  even  his  angry  blow,  for  her  lover's 
sake ;  and  now  that  lover,  for  whom  she  had  suffered 
this  pain  and  indignity,  was  proving  himself  to  be 
what  her  father  had  insisted  all  the  time,  unworthy  of 
the  affection  or  confidence  of  a  true  and  pure  woman. 
While  difficulties  were  before  her,  and  her  lover  true, 
she  could  bear  and  love  on  ;  but  when  the  object  of 
her  love  was  shown  to  be  a  traitor,  her  courage  was 
gone,  despair  seized  upon  her  soul.  And  so  she  sat 


294  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

there,  without  a  light,  even  after  the  shadows  had  gath 
ered  around  her.  No  sigh  escaped  her  lips,  no  tear 
stole  down  her  cheek.  She  was  crushed,  blighted,  un 
done  forever,  as  she  thought.  She  seemed  'to  have 
heard  the  death-knell  of  her  love.  And  yet  not  so  ; 
her  happiness  was  dead,  but  not  her  love.  She  had 
given  her  whole  heart — there  had  been  no  reservation  ; 
and  now,  though  her  lover  had  been  proven  unworthy, 
though  she  was  even  now  beginning  to  loathe  him  in  a 
certain  sense,  yet  her  heart  was  still  his ;  that  had  not 
come  back  to  her,  and  never  would. 

After  a  while  she  arose  quietly  and  lighted  a  lamp. 
She  was  singularly  composed  ;  her  every  movement 
was  deliberate,  as  if  having  been  carefully  determined 
upon.  She  looked  into  the  glass  at  the  image  of  her 
bloodless  face,  but  did  not  tremble  or  shrink  back. 
Beauty  was  of  no  value  to  her  now.  Let  the  roses  go, 
and  the  dark  tresses  turn  white,  and  the  bright  eyes 
lose  their  luster  !  He  had  kissed  her  cheeks,  and  told 
her  they  shamed  the  sweetest  rose  of  the  garden  ;  he 
had  looked  into  her  eyes,  and  told  her  they  were 
brighter  than  the  stars ;  he  had  caressed  her  dark 
brown  hair,  and  told  her  it  was  softer  than  flossy  silk. 
But  why  think  of  all  this  now?  Why  think  of  his 
loving  words  at  Mossy  Bank,  of  his  gentleness,  of  his 
seeming  devotion  ?  He  had  shown  himself  to  be  but 
a  base  deceiver.  He  had  doubtless  whispered  into 
other  ears  the  same  fond  words  which  had  so  delight 
ed  her. 

She  put  down  her  lamp,  and  brought  from  her  closet 
a  little  valise  and  set  it  upon  the  table.  She  had  evi 
dently  determined  upon  a  course  of  action,  and  was 
quietly  preparing  to  carry  her  determination  into  effect. 
With  the  utmost  deliberation  she  selected  a  few  hand 
kerchiefs  and  cuffs  and  collars,  and  such  other  ar 
ticles  as  she  might  need,  and  put  them  into  her  valise. 
She  took  her  purse,  containing  her  savings,  from  the 
bureau  drawer,  and  put  it  into  her  pocket.  Then  she 
went  softly  and  cautiously  from  her  room  into  the  hall, 


AT  THE    GATES    OF    DEATH.  295 

carrying  her  lamp  with  the  light  turned  very  low,  and 
thence  she  entered  her  mother's  room  and  closed  the 
door.  She  opened  a  small  closet,  and  began  a  hasty 
examination  of  the  little  boxes,  bottles  and  papers 
there,  till  she  seemed  to  have  found  what  she  was 
searching  for,  and  then,  with  one  hand  holding  the 
lamp,  and  the  other  clasping  the  neatly-folded  piece  of 
paper,  labeled  with  a  deadly  name,  she  returned  noise 
lessly  to  her  room.  She  hid  this  mysterious  package 
in  the  inside  pocket  of  her  valise.  She  then  unlocked 
a  drawer  where  she  kept  her  private  papers,  and  took 
therefrom  her  lover's  letters  and  put  them  into  her 
valise. 

She  sat  down  again  by  the  table,  and  remained 
quietly  there  till  every  sound  of  life  had  ceased,  save 
the  occasional  barking  of  a  dog,  or  the  harsh  cry  of  a 
screech-owl  which  seemed  to  have  encamped  on  the 
premises.  Satisfied  at  last  that  the  other  members  of 
the  family  were  fast  asleep,  she  put  on  her  hat,  threw 
a  light  wrap  around  her  shoulders,  and  with  the  valise 
in  her  hand  stepped  into  the  hall,  softly  descended  the 
stairs,  slowly  unlocked  and  opened  the  outside  door, 
and  then,  having  as  softly  and  slowly  closed  it  again, 
hurried  from  the  house  to  the  street,  and  thence  pro 
ceeded  rapidly  in  the  direction  of  Mossy  Bank. 

It  was  a  lonely  walk,  and  at  any  other  time  Katie 
would  have  shuddered  with  fear  at  the  thought  of  mak 
ing  so  wild  a  journey  at  this  hour  of  the  night,  without 
a  companion  to  defend  her  from  harm,  or  to  banish 
those  weird  thoughts  which  the  imagination  conjures 
up  on  the  solitude  of  a  walk  through  the  woods  at 
midnight.  But  now  she  had  no  fears  —  she  thought 
not  of  danger.  She  pressed  resolutely  on.  She  en 
tered  the  woods,  and  reached  Mossy  Bank  without 
having  met  a  soul.  She  sat  down  at  the  place  where 
she  had  sat  when  her  lover  had  put  his  arm  around  her 
and  told  her  how  much  he  loved  her.  Then  she  arose 
and  hurried  forward  again,  on  to  Moberly,  thinking 
not  of  the  loneliness  of  the  road,  or  the  fatigue  of  the 


296  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

walk.  When  at  last  she  ascended  the  steps  to  the  plat 
form  at  the  depot,  she  heard  the  rumbling  of  the  train. 
In  a  moment  afterwards  the  whistle  sounded,  and  then 
the  engine,  puffing  and  snorting,  dashed  by,  and  the 
train  came  to  a  stop,  while  the  usual  hubbub  of  such 
an  occasion  served  to  divert  the  attention  of  all  others 
from  her.  In  a  few  minutes  the  train  was  in  motion, 
carrying  her  rapidly  towards  Peoria. 

When  the  train  stopped  at  the  depot  at  Peoria,  and 
Katie  found  herself  standing  on  the  platform  sur 
rounded  by  strangers,  she  knew  not  which  way  to  turn 
.or  whither  to  go.  She  was  wholly  unaccustomed  to 
such  bustle  and  confusion.  So  many  strange  faces  had 
never  greeted  her  at  such  an  unseemly  hour. 

Following  the  crowd,  she  became  still  further  be 
wildered  as  she  heard  the  vigorous  cries  of  the  various 
hotel  runners,  and  stood  there  irresolute,  jostled  by 
one  and  another  of  the  passers-by,  till  one  of  the  hack- 
men  seized  her  valise  and  hurried  her  towards  his  hack, 
asking  in  harsh  tones  : 

"  Where  do  you  want  to  go  ?  " 

"I  do  n't  know,  sir,"  she  said.  "I  want  a  place 
where  I  can  stay  for  a  few  days. ' ' 

"A  hotel  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so." 

He  looked  at  her,  and  thinking,  from  her  appear 
ance,  that  she  was  a  timid,  inexperienced  school-girl, 
and  being  at  heart  kinder  than  the  tones  of  his  voice 
indicated,  he  told  her  he  would  take  her  to  a  good 
hotel.  A  large  man,  with  a  large  valise,  now  clam 
bered  into  the  hack,  puffing  from  the  exertion  and 
swearing  at  the  world  in  general.  When  he  saw  Katie 
shrinking  back  into  the  corner  of  the  hack,  he  begged 
her  pardon  for  the  use  of  such  wicked  words  in  the 
presence  of  a  lady,  but  vowed,  with  emphasis,  that  to 
a  man  of  his  size,  lumbering  around  in  hacks  at  this 
hour  of  the  night,  the  privilege  of  a  little  genteel  swear 
ing  should  be  ungrudgingly  accorded.  Fortunately  for 
Katie,  the  hotel  was  reasonably  respectable.  She 


AT  THE  GATES  OF  DEATH.  297 

might,  if  acting  on  the  advice  of  another  hackman, 
have  fared  very  much  worse.  But  this  hackman  thought 
that  he  deserved  extra  compensation  for  not  having 
taken  this  friendless  girl  to  some  disreputable  place, 
and  so,  after  he  had  helped  the  fat  man,  with  his  fat 
valise,  out  of  the  hack  and  into  the  hotel,  he  came 
back  and  assisted  Katie,  not  neglecting  to  charge  her 
double  the  compensation  usually  charged  for  the  serv 
ices  rendered. 

Katie  was  apparently  not  the  daughter  of  a  presi 
dent  or  a  governor,  or  even  of  a  railroad  magnate,  and 
was  not  therefore  taken  to  the  ladies'  parlor,  but  was 
taken  directly  to  the  office  of  the  hotel,  where  several 
men  were  engaged  in  smoking  and  swearing  and  in  be 
sieging  the  clerk  for  the  best  room  at  his  disposal.  One 
insignificant  little  gentleman,  with  pink  eyes  and  red 
hair,  and  wearing  a  calico  shirt  and  lawn  necktie,  who 
had  never  been  in  Peoria  before,  and  probably  never 
would  be  again,  and  expected  to  leave  before  breakfast, 
was  threatening  the  clerk,  in  a  terrible  voice,  with  the 
withdrawal  of  his  patronage  from  the  house  and  the 
use  of  his  influence  against  the  concern  "  on  the  road  " 
unless  he  should  be  lodged  in  the  most  elegant  room 
in  the  whole  building. 

After  the  gentlemen  had  been  accommodated  the 
clerk  turned  his  attention  to  Katie ;  asked  her  name, 
and  whether  or  not  she  wanted  a  room.  Now  Katie 
had  taken  great  pains  to  prevent  her  acquaintances 
from  learning  where  she  had  gone  and  what  she  was 
doing ;  but  in  all  her  planning  she  had  not  thought  of 
being  called  upon  to  give  her  name.  So  when  the  clerk 
made  that  inquiry  she  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and 
then  answered  that  her  name  was  Annie  Matson,  and 
that  she  would  like  a  room.  She  wrote  the  name  on 
the  register,  while  the  clerk  drummed  on  a  cigar-box 
with  his  fingers,  and  said  to  himself:  "She's  only  a 
green  girl,  and  will  put  up  with  anything.  She  's  pret 
ty,  though — pretty  as  a  peach !  Well,  I  '11  send  her  up 
near  the  angels." 


A    SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

Very  small  and  uncomfortable  was  the  room  as 
signed  her,  and  when  Katie  found  herself  alone  within 
the  dingy  walls,  she  thought  of  the  marked  contrast 
between  that  and  her  nice  comfortable  room  at  home. 
But  so  engrossed  was  her  mind  with  the  purpose  which 
had  driven  her  to  this  strange  adventure  that  she  soon 
accepted  the  situation  with  indifference  to  her  surround 
ings,  and  slept  a  troubled,  uneasy  sleep. 

Most  of  the  time  which  intervened  between  the 
hour  of  her  arrival  and  Monday  afternoon  was  passed  by 
Katie  in  her  room  at  the  hotel.  When  the  appointed 
afternoon  came,  she  disguised  herself  as  best  she  could, 
and  went  to  the  depot  again,  intent  on  witnessing  the 
interview  between  William  Manning  and  the  mysterious 
girl  named  "  Bessie."  She  looked  out  of  one  of  the  win 
dows  in  the  ladies'  waiting-room.  Ah !  there  was  Will 
iam  Manning  walking  impatiently  up  and  down  the  plat 
form.  He  stopped  suddenly  and  turned  towards  the  win 
dow  where  she  was  standing.  She  drew  back,  and  was 
certain  he  had  not  recognized  her.  The  glimpse  of  his 
face  she  had  caught  did  not  reveal  to  her  any  evidences 
of  happiness  or  joyful  anticipation,  but  sadness  and  anx 
iety  instead.  He  wore  a  look  of  keenest  distress,  and  his 
movements  were  nervous  and  hurried.  He  resumed  his 
rapid  walking  up  and  down  the  platform,  and  she  took  a 
position  where  she  could  see  without  fear  of  being  seen. 

At  last  there  was  a  rush  from  the  waiting  room  to 
the  platform,  and  she  rightly  divined  that  the  train  was 
coming.  In  a  moment  the  engine  rolled  by,  and 
amidst  the  ringing  of  bells,  the  shouting  of  the  hotel 
runners  and  the  cries  of  the  newsboys,  men  and  women 
began  to  crowd  off  and  on  the  cars.  Suddenly  Man 
ning,  who  seemed  to  be  eagerly  scanning  the  faces  of 
those  who  were  coming  from  the  train,  and  watching 
the  windows  of  the  cars,  glancing  hurriedly  in  every 
direction  for  some  well  known  face,  threw  up  his  hand, 
and  with  a  smile  illuminating  his  anxious  features, 
pressed  forward,  threw  his  arm  around  a  lovely  young 
woman,  and  began  to  disentangle  her  from  the  crowd. 


AT  THE  GATES  OF  DEATH.  299 

Katie  saw  him  stoop  over  and  kiss  the  stranger,  and 
then  her  vision  almost  failed  her,  and  she  sank  down 
on  a  seat  by  the  window.  "  How  beautiful!"  she 
thought,  as  her  eyes  were  riveted  on  the  young  face 
which  was  turned  towards  the  window  where  she  sat. 
"  How  happy  she  seems  to  be  !  Poor  thing  !  I  can  't 
blame  her.  But  I  'm  lost — lost — lost !  " 

She  saw  the  trunks  rolled  from  the  baggage  car 
upon  the  platform.  A  check  was  handed  to  the  bag 
gage-master,  and  one  of  the  trunks  pointed  out  to  him. 
Then  Manning  and  Bessie  were  taken  away  in  a  hack, 
while  Katie  hastened  forth  and  looked  at  the  trunk. 
Upon  it  she  found  a  card,  which  read  as  follows :  "Bessie 
Lowell,  Jamestown,  New  York."  She  groaned  aloud, 
unconscious  of  the  fact  that  two  or  three  men,  stand 
ing  near  by,  were  looking  at  her  with  curious  eyes. 
Every  desire  in  life  faded  from  before  her  eyes.  The 
words  of  the  poet 

"Anywhere,  anywhere, 
Out  of  the  world ! " 

were  making  wild  melody  in  her  brain,  and  suggesting 
to  her  a  possible  solution  of  all  her  bitter  sorrows. 

When  the  next  train  which  was  to  pass  through 
Moberly  was  ready  to  leave,  Katie  was  on  board,  eager 
to  retrace  her  steps,  to  go  somewhere,  to  get  away  from 
the  scene  of  her  latest  grief — to  return  home,  perhaps ; 
to  go  to  Mossy  Bank,  perhaps ;  to  put  an  end,  perhaps, 
to  her  blighted  and  miserable  existence.  She  had  no 
definitely  formed  plan ;  yet  she  had  purchased  a  ticket 
to  Moberly,  and  at  Moberly  she  left  the  train.  Her 
youth  and  beauty  attracted  the  attention  of  the  sta 
tion-agent,  who  wondered  for  a  moment  who  she  was 
and  where  she  was  going,  and  then  forgot  all  about 
her.  Leaving  the  sidewalk  at  the  first  favorable  op 
portunity,  she  set  out  on  a  second  journey,  in  the  dark 
ness  and  silence  of  the  night,  through  the  woods  which 
lay  between  Moberly  and  Wellington,  fearing  neither 
beast  nor  man  nor  evil  spirit,  for  the  worst  that  could 


3<DO  A    SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

possibly  happen  had  already  befallen  her,  and  death 
would  have  been  welcomed  as  a  happy  release  from  her 
present  suffering. 

At  Mossy  Bank  she  sat  down  to  rest  and  collect  her 
wandering  thoughts.  It  seemed  fitting  that  she  should 
rest  at  this  place,  which  had  been  the  scene  of  the 
greatest  happiness  she  had  enjoyed  since  the  time  of 
her  earliest  recollection  ;  it  seemed  fitting  that  she  should 
here  dream  over  again  the  events  of  that  bright  day  when 
she  had  met  Mr.  Manning  at  this  spot  and  given  him  her 
heart.  Yes,  she  would  dream  once  more  of  happiness 
and  love  before —  She  did  not  complete  the  sentence, 
but  took  from  the  pocket  of  her  valise  the  deadly  white 
paper,  and  held  it  irresolutely  in  her  hand  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  then  put  it  into  its  place  again.  She  shud 
dered  at  the  purpose  that  had  flitted  through  her  mind. 
Then  she  sadly  reviewed  the  past.  She  thought  of  the 
splendor,  of  the  ravishing  glory  of  that  afternoon  in 
May  when  she  had  gathered  a  lap  full  of  flowers  and 
leaves,  and  with  untroubled  mind  had  sat  down  near 
the  trunk  of  this  old  elm,  to  learn  some  of  the  lessons 
of  the  wisdom  and  goodness  of  God  as  revealed  in  the 
vegetable  world.  She  heard  again  the  click  of  the  gun- 
lock,  and  saw  William  Manning  as  he  raised  his  gun 
towards  the  sturdy  old  tree,  and  then  his  look  of  dis 
appointment  as  he  realized  the  escape  of  his  intended 
victim.  She  thought  of  her  joyful  laugh  which  had  at 
tracted  his  attention.  How  happy  she  was  then  !  How 
free  from  care!  And  how  much  happier  afterwards, 
when  William  Manning  told  her  he  loved  her,  and 
begged  her  love  in  return,  and  obtained  from  her  a 
willing,  unhesitating  promise  that  one  day  she  would 
become  his  bride !  Sitting  there  now  in  the  gloom  of 
the  woods  and  the  silence  of  the  night,  all  these  happy 
events  seemed  as  faint  and  shadowy  as  a  dream.  Could 
they  be  founded  on  fact  ?  Were  they  not  rather  the 
imaginations  of  a  diseased  mind?  Then  there  came 
over  her  with  chilling,  blighting  effect  the  certainty  of 
whats  he  had  witnessed  at  Peoria.  Her  ideas  began  to 


AT  THE    GATES   OF    DEATH.  30 1 

grow  confused.  The  strain  on  her  mind,  at  that  time 
and  place,  amidst  those  weird  surroundings,  was  too 
much,  and  she  seemed  to  be  losing  her  reason.  "O 
God!  have  mercy  upon  me!  have  mercy  upon  me!" 
she  moaned  in  the  deepest  despair.  Then  with  a  sud 
den  impulse  to  end  her  misery,  she  took  the  white 
paper  from  the  valise  again,  tremblingly  swallowed  its 
contents,  and  threw  the  paper  upon  the  ground.  When 
she  had  put  the  white  paper  into  her  valise  before  leav 
ing  home,  it  was  only  with  a  vague,  indefinite  purpose ; 
but  now  that  purpose  had  definitely  formulated  itself  in 
her  mind,  and  she  had  swallowed  the  white  powder  and 
the  work  was  done.  She  stepped  to  the  creek  and 
looked  down  at  the  black,  forbidding  stream,  and 
shuddered  and  drew  back.  She  sat  down  beneath  the 
elm  tree  where  she  had  sat  when  the  first  realization  of 
the  sweetness  of  love  had  dawned  upon  her,  and  laid 
her  hat  upon  the  ground  beside  her.  Her  head  was. 
aching  violently,  and  she  unfastened  her  hair  and  let  it 
fall  in  luxuriant  beauty  upon  her  shoulders,  and  then 
clasped  her  hands  in  fervent  prayer  to  a  pitying 
Heavenly  Father.  Presently  her  senses  began  to  grow 
benumbed,  and  her  thoughts  confused.  Strange  visions 
floated  before  her  mind,  and  these  grew  gradually  less 
and  less  distinct.  Overcome  at  last,  she  sank  back  upon 
the  mossy  bank  and  closed  her  eyes.  Her  breathing 
for  a  time  was  labored  and  stertorous,  but  after  awhile 
her  struggling  ceased,  and  she  seemed  to  breathe  no 
more,  and  her  pulse  seemed  to  have  ceased  its  beating. 
There  she  lay,  motionless  and  peaceful.  When  the  first 
glimmering  of  the  morning  light  fell  softly  upon  her, 
it  touched  a  sweet,  pale  face,  moistened  with  the  dew 
of  heaven ;  but  it  brought  no  blush  to  the  cheek,  or 
sparkle  to  the  veiled  eye.  Her  arms  were  folded  as  if 
in  death.  Her  hair  rested  lightly  upon  her  bosom. 
She  seemed  to  be  sleeping  the  sleep  that  knows  no 
waking. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

BUT    NOT    BEYOND. 

William  Manning  and  Bessie  Lowell  spent  the  time 
intervening  between  her  arrival  and  departure  in  loving 
intercourse.  They  went  to  the  hotel,  where  they  had 
their  supper ;  after  which  they  repaired  to  the  ladies' 
parlor,  where  they  remained  till  the  hack  called  for  pas 
sengers  for  the  train  on  which  Bessie  intended  to  leave 
Peoria.  Manning  stepped  into  the  office  to  pay  his 
bill,  and  while  the  clerk  was  making  the  change,  spent 
the  time  in  carelessly  glancing  over  the  register.  His 
indifference  suddenly  gave  way  to  the  keenest  interest 
when  he  found  the  name  of  Annie  Matson  there. 

"Is  Miss  Matson  still  here?!'   he  inquired,  eagerly. 

1 '  She  has  gone, "  answered  the  clerk.  ' '  Do  you  know 
her?"  he  then  asked,  probably  because  he  wanted  to 
say  something.  ' 

"I  have  seen  her  handwriting,  I  think." 

"  Well,  she  is  a  strange  girl.  She  had  no  business 
here,  as  far  as  I  could  see.  She  remained  most  of  the 
time  in  her  room,  and  left  as  quietly  as  she  came." 

"Where  did  she  go?" 

"That  I  can  not  tell  you.  But  see  here,  my  friend, 
you  'd  better  be  going,  or  you  and  the  lady  will  have 
to  walk." 

Manning  hastily  rejoined  Bessie,  and  found  the 
hackman  waiting  for  him  at  the  door  of  the  hotel.  But 
the  attorney  cared  nothing  for  the  fellow's  grumbling. 

"  Katie  wrote  that  name!"  he  was  thinking.  "Yes, 
yes,  Katie  wrote  that  name !  Her  handwriting  is  char 
acteristic.  It  couldn't  be  successfully  imitated.  The 
'An'  and  the  'ie'  and  the  'son'  are  surely  hers. 
Thank  the  Lord!  she  still  lives!"  he  was  saying 
over  and  over  to  himself;  and  when  Bessie  propounded 
a  question  to  him,  he  seized  her  by  the  shoulder,  and 


BUT    NOT    BEYOND.  303 

said,  in  an  excited  manner:    "She  still  lives!     She  still 
lives  !  " 

"Why,  Willie,  what  do  you  mean?"  asked  Bessie*. 
"  Are  you  stage-struck,  or  demented?" 

Recalled  to  his  senses  by  these  questions,  Manning 
began  to  speak  rapidly  on  another  subject.  The  stop 
ping  of  the  hack  at  the  depot  platform  was  a  relief  to 
him.  Soon  afterwards  he  helped  Bessie  to  her  place  in 
the  sleeping-car,  and,  with  a  farewell  kiss,  left  the  train 
just  as  it  began  to  move  forward.  The  last  indication 
he  had  of  her  presence  was  the  fluttering  of  a  white 
handkerchief  as  the  train  passed  out  of  the  circle  of 
light  into  the  darkness. 

Now  Bessie  had  not  received  that  serious  and  affec 
tionate  leave-taking  which  would  have  been  accorded  to 
her  under  other  circumstances,  though  she  thought  she 
had  been  received  lovingly  enough,  and  was  as  happy 
as  she  could  be  over  the  events  of  this  memorable 
evening.  She  had  met  her  beau-ideal  of  manly  excel 
lence,  had  been  caressed  a  few  times,  and  kissed  at 
least  twice  by  this  noble  youth,  and  was  now  speeding 
along  in  a  palace-car  to  meet  other  friends  and  to 
enjoy  new  scenes.  So  Bessie  was  pleased  and  con 
tented. 

As  soon  as  she  was  gone,  William  Manning  bent 
his  mind  and  energies  to  the  pursuit  of  the  fugitive 
Katie,  and  forgot  in  a  moment  that  such  a  bewitching 
girl  as  Bessie  was  in  existence. 

He  returned  to  the  hotel,  and  made  particular  in 
quiries  concerning  the  mysterious  Annie  Matson. 
Having  satisfied  himself,  from  the  clerk's  fragmentary 
answers,  that  the  young  woman  was  indeed  Katie  An 
derson,  and  that  she  had  taken  the  evening  train  towards 
home,  he  resolved  to  follow  in  the  same  direction.  The 
next  train  would  leave  near  midnight.  Under  the  con 
flict  of  fears,  hopes  and  conjectures  which  disturbed  his 
mind,  the  time  seemed  to  pass  away  with  unendurable 
slowness.  But  the  hour  of  departure  came  at  last,  and 
the  train  moved  away  from  the  depot  on  time. 


3O4  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

As  the  train  slowed  up  at  Moherly,  Manning  leaped 
to  the  platform  and  inquired  of  the  agent  for  the  object 
of  his  search,  describing  Katie  as  well  as  he  could. 
The  agent  answered  that  a  young  lady  answering  to 
that  description  had  left  the  preceding  train  at  Moberly, 
but  that  he  did  not  know  where  she  had  gone,  as  he 
had  paid  no  particular  attention  to  her. 

So  Manning  ran  to  the  one  hotel  at  Moberly  to 
make  inquiries  there.  After  rousing  a  savage  dog  with 
his  loud  and  persevering  knocks,  and  virtually  alarming 
the  whole  neighborhood,  he  succeeded  in  making  an 
impression  on  the  landlord,  who  came  stumbling  towards 
the  door,  and  asked  with  an  oath  what  he  wanted  there 
at  that  unseemly  hour  of  the  night.  When  the  land 
lord  heard  the  nature  of  Manning's  business,  he  was 
still  more  highly  incensed  than  before.  He  could  have 
brooked  this  disturbance  in  order  to  secure  a  lodger, 
but  to  be  aroused  by  such  persistent  knocking  merely 
to  answer  inquiries  about  a  girl  he  had  never  seen  was 
more  than  flesh  could  endure  with  Christian  resignation. 
He  swore  he  had  never  seen  the  young  woman,  and 
hoped  he  never  would  see  her,  or  the  crack-brained  fool 
who  was  inquiring  about  her,  during  the  remainder  of 
his  sublunar  existence ;  and,  slamming  the  door  in  the 
face  of  his  interrogator,  he  retired  to  his  peaceful  couch. 

For  a  moment  Manning  was  undecided  what  to  do. 
He  could  not  undertake  the  invidious  task  of  rousing 
all  the  sober-minded  inhabitants  of  Moberly  at  that 
hour  of  the  night,  to  make  inquiries  concerning  a  run 
away  girl.  She  was  not  dead — that  was  evident.  From 
the  clews  he  had  obtained,  it  seemed  to  be  a  reasona 
ble  inference  that  she  was  keeping  in  the  vicinity  of  her 
home.  That  was  indeed  a  favorable  indication.  If  she 
was  in  Moberly,  the  fact  could  be  ascertained  in  the 
morning.  Suddenly  he  snapped  his  fingers.  A  new 
thought  was  burning  in  his  brain.  She  had  arrived  at 
Peoria  the  night  she  left  home,  as  was  proved  by  the 
date  of  the  entry  of  her  name  on  the  hotel  register. 
How  had  she  gone  to  Peoria?  By  train,  of  course  ;  and 


BUT   NOT    BEYOND.  305 

she  must  have  taken  the  train  at  Moberly.  It  seemed 
almost  incredible  that  she  should  have  walked  from 
Wellington  to  Moberly  in  the  night-time.  Still  she 
must  have  done  so.  And  perhaps  she  had  this  night 
undertaken  a  similar  journey,  and  was  at  this  very 
moment  sleeping  in  peace,  a  returned  prodigal,  under 
her  father's  roof.  If  all  this  was  true,  what  was  the 
meaning  of  this  strange  trip  ?  Had  she  become  de 
mented?  And  then  he  remembered  that  Bessie  had 
thought  himself  demented  when  he  had  seized  her  by 
the  arm  and  cried  out,  "She  still  lives!"  No,  she  was 
not  nec&ssarily  demented.  .  There  was  probably  a  ra 
tional  explanation  of  her  conduct.  When  he  consid 
ered  the  anger  her  father  had  shown  towards  her  when 
he  had  led  her  home  from  the  street,  saying  he  would 
soon  settle  accounts  with  her,  it  was  easy  to  reach  the 
conclusion  that  she  must  have  left  home  in  resentment 
of  her  father's  rough  treatment,  and  had  now  returned 
in  penitence  to  her  home. 

.  At  any  rate,  he  decided  to  follow  in  her  footsteps. 
If  his  surmises  were  correct,  he  would  soon  find  her  in 
the  city  of  Wellington.  It  was  no  task  for  this  brave, 
athletic  youth  to  travel  in  the  night-time  the  road  which 
led  from  Moberly  to  Wellington.  Having  reached 
Honey  Creek,  he  turned  aside  from  the  main  road  into 
the  pathway  leading  to  Mossy  Bank,  as  being  the  short 
est  route,  and,  with  a  few  rapid  strides,  entered  the 
circle  of  that  enchanted  spot.  The  sun  was  already, 
with  richest  colors,  heralding  his  coming.  The  birds 
were  all  awake,  and  their  wild  songs  were  rousing  the 
echoes  of  the  forest.  Swinging  along  rapidly  with  his 
eyes  bent  thoughtfully  on  the  ground,  Manning  came 
suddenly  to  the  motionless  form  of  Katie  Anderson. 
He  threw  up  his  hands  with  an  exclamation  of  surprise, 
then  with  a  cry  of  horror.  Dead !  dead  !  So  it  seemed. 
His  darling,  his  only  loved  one,  dead  !  He  threw  him 
self  beside  her,  and  put  his  hand  upon  her  face  and 
hair.  Her  tresses  were  wet  with  dew.  Her  face  was 
white  and  colorless  as  a  shroud.  Her  eyes  were  sealed 


3O6  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

as  if  in  an  eternal  sleep.  Could  it  be  possible|?  O  God ! 
could  it  be  possible  ?  Was  this  the  end  of  his  loving  and 
hoping  and  planning?  Tremblingly  he  put  his  fingers 
to  her  wrist.  There  seemed  to  be  no  pulse.  Yes,  there 
was — a  feeble  flutter.  No,  it  was  gone.  He  must  have 
mistaken  the  agitation  of  his  own  fingers  for  the  flutter 
of  her  pulse.  Again  he  placed  his  hand  upon  her  face, 
and  found  it  cold.  Again  he  smoothed  the  dampened 
hair  from  her  forehead.  There  was  no  sign  of  life,  and 
then,  with  an  agonized  cry,  such  as  had  never  passed 
his  lips  before,  he  bent  over  the  prostrate  form,  and 
kissed  her  passionately,  and  pleaded  with  her  to  listen, 
to  open  her  eyes,  to  speak,  if  only  a  word.  But  she 
lay  there,  cold  and  still,  and  answered  not  a  word  to 
his  passionate  cries.  How  pure  and  beautiful  she 
looked !  Death  had  never  claimed  a  fairer'bride.  There 
was  no  mark  of  violence  upon  her — no  stream  of  blood 
— no  knife  or  pistol  was  near.  But  ah !  there  lay  the 
fatal,  telltale  piece  of  paper !  She  had  taken  poison, 
and  was  now,  in  peaceful  and  eternal  slumber,  beyond 
the  reach  of  earthly  help.  "Oh,  no!  no!  I  can  not 
give  her  up!  D  God  !  spare  her  !  spare  her!  "  he  cried 
in  indescribable  anguish.  Suddenly  he  started  up. 
There  was  a  slight  respiration,  a  little  stertorous  sigh. 
Was  he  mistaken  ?  He  laid  his  ear  over  her  heart  and 
listened.  There  was  not  a  sound.  Yes,  yes!  He  felt 
a  little  vibration,  and  then  another.  Thanks  be  to  God  ! 
She  was  not  dead  yet !  She  might  be  saved !  Stifling 
his  grief,  he  took  her  up  tenderly  in  his  arms,  as  tenderly 
as  if  she  were  a  child,  and  with  nervous  haste  bore  her 
onward  from  Mossy  Bank  towards  her  home  in  Wel 
lington.  It  was  no  easy  task  ;  but  what  cared  he  ?  What 
thought  he  of  the  heaviness  of  the  load  ?  of  his  well- 
nigh  paralyzed  arm  ?  of  his  racing  blood  ?  of  his  trem 
bling  limbs?  of  his  streaming  brow  ?  Love  sustained 
him — love  upheld  his  arms  and  quickened  his  pace.  On, 
up  the  steep  pathway  which  led  to  the  summit  of  the 
hill — on,  till  the  forest  was  left  behind,  and  the  dusty 
road  was  before — on,  through  lane  and  street,, till  Wei- 


BUT  NOT  BEYOND.  3O/ 

lington  was  reached,  and  he  kicked  the  gate  open  at  her 
father's  place.  At  last,  thank  God  !  he  stood  at  the 
sitting-room  door,  with  his  precious  burden  in  his  arms, 
knocking  with  terrible  earnestness  for  admittance. 

Henry  Anderson  opened  the  door,  and  then  fell 
back  with  a  cry  which  brought  Mrs.  Anderson  and 
James  into  the  sitting-room.  William  Manning  stag 
gered  forward  and  laid  his  darling  upon  the  lounge. 
"Send  for  a  doctor,  for  God's  sake  !  "  he  cried.  "She 
has  poisoned  herself!"  And  then  he  fainted  from 
agony  and  exhaustion  by  the  side  of  his  beloved. 

In  a  moment,  James  was  dressed  and  on  his  way 
for  Dr.  Harmon.  Many  of  the  neighbors,  who  had 
witnessed  this  strange  spectacle — William  Manning  run 
ning  like  a  madman  through  the  streets,  bareheaded, 
with  the  perspiration  streaming  from  his  face,  and  the 
helpless  form  of  Katie  Anderson  in  his  arms  —  now 
came  into  the  house  to  learn  the  meaning  of  what  they 
had  seen,  and  to  render  the  afflicted  family  all  the  help 
that  lay  in  their  power.  Mrs.  Anderson  had  been  bed 
fast  from  the  day  when  Katie  had  been  missed,  and  was 
now  utterly  prostrated  and  unable  to  render  any  as 
sistance.  Some  of  the  neighbors  engaged  in  chafing 
Katie's  hands,  seeking  for  some  sign  of  life  in  the  girl 
so  universally  beloved,  while  Mr.  Anderson  endeavored 
to  rouse  William  Manning  from  his  fainting  condition. 
In  this  he  had  succeeded  by  the  time  Dr.  Harmon  had 
come  and  taken  charge  of  Katie. 

"Is  she  dead,  Doctor?"  asked  Manning  as  he 
opened  his  eyes,  and  the  recollection  of  what  had  oc 
curred  explained  the  meaning  of  his  present  strange 
surroundings.  The  Doctor  made  no  answer.  "Tell 
me,"  he  cried,  struggling  to  his  feet  and  seizing  the 
Doctor  by  the  arm,  "is  she  dead?  is  my  darling  dead  ?" 

"I  hope  not,"  he  answered.  "There  is  still  some 
action  of  the  heart  But  if  you  had  been  half  an  hour 
later,  I  fear  no  earthly  power  could  have  saved  her." 

She  was  carried  to  her  room,  and  the  Doctor  pro- 
cee*ded  to  make  use  of  all  the  means  known  to  medical 


3O8  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

science  to  turn  away  the  death-angel  from  the  door  of 
this  afflicted  home. 

William  Manning  related  in  detail  those  events  with 
which  the  reader  is  already  acquainted,  omitting  only 
that  part  of  the  history  which  related  to  Bessie  Lowell 
and  his  mysterious  meeting  with  her.  He  begged  the 
privilege  of  calling  to  inquire  about  Katie's  condition 
from  time  to  time.  "  Henry  Anderson  was  in  no  mood 
now  to  deny  so  small  a  favor,  and  so  granted  the  young 
man's  request ;  but  not  cheerfully,  not  with  alacrity,  but 
as  if  only  from  a  sense  of  obligation. 

"I'll  not  impose  upon  you  in  any  manner  because 
of  your  kindness, "  said  Manning.  "You  understand 
my  case,  and  know  how  anxious  I  feel  for  her  speedy 
recovery." 

"You  have  put  me  under  renewed  obligations," 
said  Mr.  Anderson,  "and  I  can  not  deny  you  any  rea 
sonable  request." 

"  I  '11  not  take  advantage  of  that  fact, "  was  the 
magnanimous  answer.  "  It  is  not  for  me  to  teach  your 
daughter  disobedience.  But  what  am  I  talking  about? 
God  knows  it  will  be  time  enough  to  talk  about  these 
matters  when  we  know  that  he  has  spared  her  life." 
The  Doctor  now  made  the  cheering  statement  that 
bethought  he  would  be  able  to  save  Katie  ;  that  she  had 
great  vitality,  and  the  dose,  which  would  have  proved 
fatal  to  the  majority  of  persons,  would  probably  not  be 
fatal  to  her.  He  remained  at  her  side,  her  faithful  and 
watchful  attendant.  In  the  course  of  time  the  action 
of  her  heart  became  stronger  and  her  breathing  more 
natural.  Soon  afterwards  there  was  a  perceptible  move 
ment  of  her  arm,  and  a  slight  twitching  of  her  eyelids. 
As  one  aroused  from  a  deep  sleep,  she  opened  her  eyes 
and  then  closed  them  again.  Presently  her  lips  moved, 
but  her  whisper  was  so  faint  that  no  one,  not  even  the 
Doctor,  was  able  to  understand  what  she  said.  Some 
minutes  elapsed,  and  then  she  opened  her  eyes  once 
more,  and  her  lips  moved,  and  she  said,  in  agonized 
tones,  and  yet  as  if  not  fully  comprehending  what  she 


BUT*  NOT    BEYOND. 

said  :  "  Have  mercy  upon  me  !  Have  mercy — upon — 
me!  "  Mrs.  Anderson,  who  was  lying  on  a  lounge  in 
Katie's  room,  that  she  might  be  near  her  idolized  child, 
sobbed  aloud,  for  she  thought  she  understood  some 
what  of  the  meaning  of  Katie's  words,  while  James 
took  one  of  his  mother's  hands  and  pressed  it  to  his 
heart,  and  Henry  Anderson  walked  to  the  window,  and 
stood  there,  with  his  head  bowed  upon  his  breast  and 
his  lips  moving  as  if  in  prayer. 

Then  Katie's  voice  was  heard  again:  "Mother,  I 
love  him,  oh,  so  much!  But  he  loves  another.  I'm 
lost — lost!"  And  then  in  a  moment  she  said  impa 
tiently:  "Oh,  let  me  alone!  I  don't  want  to  live. 
Please  let  me  alone." 

But  they  did  not  let  her  alone.  Medical  skill  and 
nursing  and  tenderness  triumphed,  and  Katie  was 
snatched  away  from  the  very  gates  of  death. 

Yet  her  kind-hearted  physician  could  not  save  her 
altogether  from  the  consequences  of  her  rashness.  The 
shock  and  exposure  had  been  too  much  for  her,  and 
she  was  taken  with  a  violent  fever,  which  prostrated 
her  for  several  days,  and  from  which  her  recovery,  even 
after  she  was  able  to  sit  up,  was  very  slow.  Four  or 
five  weeks  elapsed  before  she  was  the  same  robust  girl 
she  had  been  prior  to  her  perilous  adventu?es  at  Peoria 
and  Mossy  Bank.  But  with  returning  health  she  re 
gained  composure  of  mind,  and  was  now  able  to  look 
her  future  calmly  in  the  face.  She  had  learned  of  her 
indebtedness  for  life  to  William  Manning,  and  it  filled 
her  with  a  strange  pleasure  to  know  that  such  was  the 
case.  And  yet,  contradictory  as  such  a  resolution  may 
seem  to  the  love  and  desire  of  her  heart,  she  had  calm 
ly  determined  that  William  Manning,  ^n  view  of  what 
she  had  witnessed  at  Peoria,  was  unworthy  of  her  love, 
and  that  under  these  circumstances  she  could  never 
consent  to  become  his  wife.  "I'll  never  love  again. 
I  '11  never  marry.  I  '11  go  to  work,  and  devote  my 
life  to  doing  good.  Let  me  ever  think  of  my  lover  as 
he  first  appeared  to  me — noble,  true  and  pure.  But 


3IO  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

William  Manning,  as  he  really  is,  is  henceforth  dead  to 
me,  and  I  '11  never  love  again." 

But  in  the  meantime,  before  this  resolution  was 
fully  formed,  many  other  important  events  had  trans 
pired,  which  demand  for  a  while  our  attention. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE    DEVIL   CAST    OUT. 

The  reader  doubtless  remembers  that  among  the 
active  politicians  of  Wellington  who  had  agreed  to  sup 
port  William  Manning  was  a  saloon-keeper  named 
Marion  Spence.  True  to  his  promise,  he  spent  several 
days  in  the  interests  of  his  friend  in  those  parts  of  the 
county  where  he  thought  his  services  would  result  in  the 
greatest  good.  It  was  about  a  week  after  Katie's  return 
from  Peoria,  and  while  she  was  yet  unable  to  leave  her 
bed,  that  Spence  called  at  Manning's  office  to  report 
concerning  his  efforts  in  the  young  attorney's  behalf. 
Manning  was  sitting  at  his  desk,  lost  in  serious  thought. 
Before  him  lay  an  open  letter,  written  in  a  bold,  ener 
getic  hand,  half  feminine,  half  masculine.  He  roused 
himself  at  the  entrance  of  Marion  Spence,  and  rose 
from  his  chair. 

"Spence,"  he  said,  "I  am  glad  to  see  you,  really 
glad  to  see  you.  Here,  take  this  easy  chair.  I  was 
thinking  of  you  when  you  came  in." 

"You  are  anxious,  of  course,  to  know  what  I  have 
done  for  you,"  said  Spence.  "And  so  I  have  come  to 
make  a  detailed  report  of  all  I  have  learned  and  accom 
plished.  Some  parts  of  my  report  will  be  favorable, 
and  some  unfavorable." 

"I  was  not  thinking  of  myself,"  interposed  Man 
ning.  "I  was  thinking  of  you  and  your  business. 
This  subject  has  given  me  much  concern,  and  my  anx 
iety  for  you  has  been  intensified  by  the  letter  I  have 
just  been  reading.  Can  you  hear  me  without  taking 
offense  ?  If  I  talk  on  this  subject  at  all,  I  must  talk 
plainly.  Plain  speech  is  demanded.  Nothing  else 
will  do." 

"  Speak  freely,"  said  Spence.  "  You  're  my  friend. 
I  know  that.  I  can  take  a  great  deal  from  a  true 


312  A   SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

friend.  Besides,  your  words  may  not  be  offensive  after 
all.  I  have  submitted  with  good  grace  to  lectures 
about  my  business  from  others.  Why  not  from  you?" 

"Well,  then,  with  your  permission,  I'll  come  di 
rectly  to  the  point.  I  'm  surprised,  Spence,  that  a  man 
of  your  sense  and  talents  should  be  engaged  in  such  a 
business.  I  Ve  thought  the  matter  over  again  and 
again,  and  I  confess  I  am  puzzled  for  an  explanation. 
It's  the  hardest  riddle  I've  tried  to  answer.  There 
may  be  a  few  men  of  culture  in  the  saloon  business, 
and  if  so,  you  are  certainly  one  of  them.  But  I  can't 
understand  how  these  things  can  be.  It  is  like  yoking 
light  and  darkness,  culture  and  beastliness,  together. 
If  you  continue  in  such  a  business,  the  devilish  and 
sensual  will  get  the  upper  hand  of  you  sooner  or  later." 

"I  have  always  maintained,"  answered  Spence  after 
a  slight  pause,  "  that  keeping  a  saloon,  if  done  accord 
ing  to  law,  is  as  lawful  a  business  as  any  other.  Now, 
why  isn't  it?  The  law  licenses  the  business — recog 
nizes  its  propriety.  There  are  certain  restrictions  or 
limitations  on  our  sales.  But  if  we  keep  within  the 
law.  why  isn't  our  business  a  lawful  business?" 

"Your  premises  are  false,"  said  Manning  with 
great  animation.  "Grant  the  devil  his  premises,  and 
he  will  drive  you  to  his  conclusions  every  time.  Your 
premises  are  false,  Spence.  You  make  an  improper 
use  of  the  word  lawful.  It  is  true  enough  that  in  your 
use  of  the  word  whatever  is  allowed  by  the  law  of  the 
land  is  lawful ;  but  many  things  are  allowed  by  law 
which  are  not  right,  nay,  are  morally  wrong.  I  'm 
sure  you  must  agree  with  me  in  that  proposition  " 

Marion  Spence  made  no  answer.  He  was  thinking 
seriously  of  what  his  friend  had  said. 

"I  know  you  are  in  principle  uncompromisingly 
opposed  to  slavery,"  resumed  Manning.  "  If  the  law 
authorized  slavery  at  this  day,  you  would  deny  the  jus 
tice  of  the  law,  and  refuse  to  become  a  slave  owner. 
Am  I  not  right?" 

"Yes,  "answered  Spence,  with  emphasis. 


THE    DEVIL    CAST   OUT.  313 

"Then,  in  your  opinion,  the  fact  that  the  law 
might  authorize  slavery  would  not  make  it  right.  The 
higher  law  would  forbid  your  doing  what  might  be  per 
mitted  by  human  law.  You  would  obey  the  higher 
law,  and  decline  to  do  what  would  be  lawful  in  one 
sense,  and  yet  not  right,  and  therefore  not  lawful,  in 
another  sense." 

"But  liquor  will  be  sold,"  said  Spence.  "The 
people  demand  it,  and  will  have  it.  The  business  must 
go  on.  Somebody  must  keep  the  saloons.  Is  n't  it 
better  to  have  the  business  under  the  control  of  law- 
abiding  men  than  under  the  control  of  the  lawless  and 
vicious?  According  to  your  theory,  you  would  have 
every  law-?ibidin£  man  step  out,  and  let  a  violator  of  the 
law  have  his  place.  It  seems  to  me  such  a  course  would 
multiply  the  evils  of  the  business  beyond  calculation." 

"  That  depends  on  circumstances,"  was  the  answer. 
"  If  we  must  have  saloons,  and  can  have  them  all  in 
the  hands  of  law-abiding  citizens,  that  will  undoubtedly 
be  for  the  best.  But  you  will  concede,  Spence,  that 
even  the  best  kept  saloons  are  a  curse  to  society?" 

"I  have  thought  much  of  that  question  lately. 
Perhaps  you  are  right." 

' '  I  am  right.  Even  your  ideal  saloon  would  be  an 
unmitigated  curse.  I  can  demonstrate  that  fact  to  the 
satisfaction  of  every  candid  mind.  In  obedience  to  law, 
you  profess  not  to  sell  to  drunkards  and  minors.  You 
admit  that  such  sales  should  not  be  made.  But  how 
are  you  going  to  keep  your  liquor  out  of  their  hands  ? 
They  can  and  do  make  their  purchases  through  others  ; 
and  while  in  such  case  you  are  not  legally  responsible, 
you  are  responsible  morally.  You  know  that  drunk 
ards  and  minors  will  get  your  liquor  indirectly,  if  not 
directly.  Spence,  why  don't  you  abandon  the  cursed 
business?  " 

"Proceed  with  your  argument,  Mr.  Manning. 
When  you  have  don;-,  I  '11  render  my  decision." 

"  All  right.  I  can  settle  the  question  easily  enough. 
You  admit  that  a  drunkard  shouldn't  have  anything  to 


314  A    SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

drink.  You  refuse  to  sell  to  such  a  man.  When  he 
presents  himself  at  your  bar,  you  say,  '  Go !  I  can 't 
sell  to  you.  I  sell  to  sober  men,  not  to  drunkards ! ' 
Spence,  every  drunkard  was  once  a  sober  man.  When 
you  sell  to  a  sober  man,  you  may  be  helping  to  manu 
facture  a  drunkard.  Which  is  most  damnable,  to  help 
make  drunkards,  or  to  sell  to  men  after  they  become 
drunkards  ?  The  idea  of  the  saloon  being  elevated  into 
a  reformatory  institution — first,  to  make  a  man  into  a 
drunkard,  and  then  to  re-make  him  into  a  sober  man  !" 

"  Men  should  control  their  appetites,  Mr.  Manning." 

"Certainly  they  should,"  said  the  attorney,  inter 
rupting  his  friend.  "  Yes,  men  should  control  their  ap 
petites.  But  they  don't!  Ah!  there  is  the  sad  fact! 
They  don  t!  Therefore,  every  dictate  of  humanity  cries 
out,  '  Lead  them  not  into  temptation,  but  deliver  them  from 
evil. '  ' 

William  Manning,  in  his  terrible  earnestness,  had 
arisen  and  spoken  these  words  while  walking  nervously 
up  and  down  the  room.  As  he  uttered  the  last  sentence, 
he  paused  in  front  of  Marion  Spence  and  looked  him 
steadfastly  in  the  face.  His  voice  trembled  with  the 
intensity  of  his  feelings.  The  words  fell  like  so  many 
blows  on  the  saloon-keeper.  "My  God,"  the  con 
science-stricken  man  was  saying  to  himself,  "  have  I 
been  leading  men  into  temptation  ?  Have  I  been  damn 
ing  their  souls  ?  Am  I  a  drunkard-maker?"  He  sat 
there  for  some  time,  taking  no  notice  of  his  friend's 
footfall  up  and  down  the  room,  or  of  the  rumbling  of 
the  wagons  on  the  streets,  or  of  the  voices  of  men 
rising  upward  from  the  sidewalk  below.  He  heard  but 
one  .sound,  the  united  voices  of  helpless  drunkards 
blending  into  one  wail,  crying  aloud  to  his  soul,  "Lead 
us  not  into  temptation — lead  us  not  into  temptation  ! ' ' 

"Marion  Spence,"  asked  Manning  solemnly,  "have 
you  ever  sold  liquor  to  Henry  Anderson?" 

The  question  was  unanswered. 

"  If  you  have,  let  me  tell  you  that  you  have  helped 
to  ruin  a  noble  man !  You  have  helped  to  break  up  the 


THE    DEVIL    CAST   OUT.  315 

peace  of  his  home  !  If  he  goes  on  to  ruin  and  perdi 
tion,  you  will  be  partly  responsible !  If  his  wife  and 
children  are  brought  to  degradation  and  rags,  you,  in 
the  lawful  exercise  of  the  lawful  right  to  engage  in  a  law 
ful  business,  must  share  the  guilt  and  the  punishment!  " 

This  terrible  arraignment  aroused  no  resentment  in 
Spence's  bosom.  His  mind  was  dwelling  now  upon  an 
other  scene.  He  was  thinking  of  the  last  time  Henry 
Anderson  had  purchased  liquor  at  his  bar.  He  was 
thinking  of  the  bold  act  of  a  gentle,  dauntless  woman 
who  had  turned  the  erring  man  from  his  purpose.  Her 
words  were  ringing  in  his  ears.  "  Is  n't  Henry  Ander 
son  too  young  to  be  ruined?  ""she  had  asked,  with 
flashing  eyes  and  overmastering  voice.  "Think 
quickly,"  she  had  urged  him,  "  think  quickly,  then,  for 
Heaven's  sake — for  the  sake  of  drunken  men  and  their 
miserable  families,  for  the  sake  of  your  own  self — and 
abandon  this  business  before  another  sun  rises,  if  you 
hope  for  peace  with  your  God."  He  had  been 
thoroughly  aroused,  and  had  almost  formed  a  resolution 
to  hearken  to  the  exhortation.  And  then  the  good  im 
pression  had  passed  away,  and  the  stirring  exhortation 
had  been  forgotten,  and  he  had  deferred  from  time  to 
time  more  serious  consideration  of  this  important 
question  —  had  put  down  the  voice  of  conscience  and 
deferred  the  day  of  reformation. 

"Spence,"  cried  Manning,  calling  the  saloon 
keeper's  mind  with  startling  suddenness  from  the  past 
to  the  present,  "why,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  don't 
you  give  up  this  infamous  business?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Spence  answered  slowly.  "I 
have  often  thought  of  doing  so.  But  it  pays  me  well, 
and  I  have  never  done  anything  else — in  fact,  I  do  n't 
know  anything  about  any  other  business.  It 's  a  hard 
thing  to  give  up  a  good  business  for  an  uncertainty. 
You  do  n't  understand  what  a  sacrifice  it  is. " 

"  I  know  what  a  sacrifice  it  will  be  if  you  go  on  in 
this  business.  You  will  sacrifice  and  damn  your  soul. 
You  will  sin  against  light.  You  know  the  world  would 


3l6  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

be  better  off  without  saloons — that  they  are  a  curse 
alike  to  society  and  individuals." 

"I  suppose,  generally  speaking,  they  are." 
' '  Suppose  they  are  !  Of  course  they  are  !  They  rob 
the  poor  of  their  hard  earnings,  ruin  their  families, 
break  the  hearts  of  innocent  wpmen  and  children.  But 
this  is  not  all.  With  rare  exceptions,  saloon-keepers 
openly  and  defiantly  violate  the  law.  One  of  the  ob 
jects  of  their  association  is  to  devise  ways  and  means  to 
fight  the  law,  and  to  corrupt  the  legislature  to  bring 
about  its  repeal." 

"That  is  a  hard  charge,  Mr.  Manning." 
"  It  is  true,  nevertheless,  and  you  know  it.  That's 
the  reason,  Mr.  Spence,  why  you  are  not  a  member  of 
their  associations.  I  say  it  fearlessly,  saloon-keepers 
band  themselves  together  to  prevent  the  enforcement 
of  the  law.  You  dare  not  deny  it.  I  know  of  one  in 
stance  where  a  witness  in  a  case  against  saloon-keepers 
was  told  by  them  to  refuse  to  answer.  He  did  refuse 
to  answer.  Without  his  testimony  the  saloon-keepers 
could  not  be  convicted.  The  witness  was  fined  for 
contempt,  of  course,  and  the  saloon-keepers  raised  the 
money  to  pay  the  fine.  This  was  a  clear  conspiracy  to 
defeat  the  administration  of  justice  ;  but  what  could  be 
done  about  it  ?  Indict  the  saloon-keepers  ?  Certainly. 
But  how  ?  By  whom  ?  By  a  grand  jury  selected  by 
supervisors  who  owe  their  election  to  saloon  influence  ? 
You  see,  Mr.  Spence,  what  a  monstrous  power  this  is. 
It  invades  the  court-house  and  the  legislative  halls,  and 
threatens  to  corrupt  the  whole  body  politic." 

"I  think  you  exaggerate  the  danger,"  suggested 
Mr.  Spence. 

"  I  do  not,"  continued  Manning.  "  Suppose  Saw- 
theaire  should  be  elected  State's  attorney,  what  will 
then  become  of  the  dram-shop  act  ?  It  will  be  but  as  so 
much  waste  paper.  There  can  be  no  doubt  he  has 
made  promises  to  saloon  men,  or  he  would  not  receive 
their  support.  He  will  not  dare  to  prosecute  them. 
If  forced  to  prosecute,  he  will  go  to  them  with  apolo- 


THE    DEVIL    CAST    OUT.  317 

gies,  beg  them  to  plead  guilty  to  one  or  two  counts, 
and  recommend  nominal  fines  to  the  court,  knowing 
all  the  time  that  they  have  violated  the  law  repeatedly 
instead  of  only  once  or  twice.  What  do  you  think  of 
all  this,  my  friend  ?  " 

"  I  hardly  know  what  to  say.     I  'm  sure  I  can  't 
deny  the  force  of  your  statements. " 

"Then  what  excuse  have  you  for  continuing  in 
your  business?  But  consider  this  matter  a  little  fur 
ther.  Our  present  dram-shop  act  is  certainly  a  wise 
and  just  law  as  far  as  it  goes.  It  does  n't  go  far  enough  ; 
but  as  far  as  it  does  go,  I  say  it  is  a  wise  and  just  law. 
Now  I  know  a  certain  member  of  the  legislature, 
faithful,  honest  and  efficient,  who  voted  for  that  law, 
and  was  for  that  reason  defeated  by  saloon  influence 
when  he  came  before  the  convention  for  renomination. 
I  tell  you  the  law-abiding  citizens  of  our  country  must 
rise  up  and  confront  and  overthrow  this  power,  or  the 
nation  will  be  ruined.'' 

"  But  the  case  you  state,  Mr.  Manning,  was  a  case 
of  self-defense.  The  gentleman  you  speak  of  had  leg 
islated  against  keepers  of  saloons,  and  it  was  natural 
for  them  to  beat  him  if  they  could." 

"Yes,  it  is  natural  enough  for  a  rattlesnake  to 
strike,  if  attacked,  and  that  is  a  cogent  reason  for  rid 
ding  the  world  of  rattlesnakes.  The  saloon  power 
must  be  destroyed.  Its  friends  work  to  preserve  it ; 
we  must  work  to  destroy  it.  You  're  not  on  the  right 
side,  Mr.  Spence. " 

"But  suppose  all- you  have  said  is  true,"  inter 
posed  Mr.  Spence,  manifesting  for  the  first  time  a 
disposition  to  speak  at  any  considerable  length  ;  "sup 
pose  it  is  all  true,  what  can  be  done?  How  will 
you  kill  the  rattlesnake  ?  This  can  only  be  done 
through  the  makers  and  enforcers  of  the  law.  But  if 
one  party  nominates  anti-saloon  candidates,  the  saloon 
influence  is  at  once  transferred  to  the  other  party,  on 
condition  that  men  who  are  controlled  by  the  saloon 
power  shall  be  nominated.  And  so  eager  is  each  party 


A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

for  office  that  such  a  bid  or  bribe  is  rarely  resisted. 
That  is  your  misfortune  in  this  campaign,  Mr.  Man 
ning.  Men  of  your  own  party  say  you  are  extreme  ; 
they  urge  that  the  saloons  will  beat  you  even  if  you 
should  be  nominated.  Therefore,  as  a  matter  of  polit 
ical  expediency,  some  who  are  really  for  you  will  work 
and  vote  in  the  convention  for  Sawtbeaire. " 

"Spence,  give  me  your  hand,"  cried  Manning,  con 
siderably  surprised.  "Why,  I  was  beginning  to  de 
spair,  but  now  I  'm  greatly  encouraged.  I  '11  make  a 
convert  of  you  yet.  I  see  you  are  on  the  right  track. 
The  parties  are  in  the  hands  of  the  saloons,  and  nei 
ther  party  has  the  backbone  to  defy  the  liquor  power, 
and  suffer  temporary  defeat  for  ultimate  and  glorious 
victory.  There  is  the  difficulty  about  killing  the  rattle 
snake.  I  am  coming  to  the  belief  that  the  saloon 
power  will  never  be  broken  without  an  organized  polit 
ical  movement  to  that  end,  such  as  prepared  the  way 
for  the  abolition  of  slavery.  The  majority  of  the  voters 
in  both  parties  are  opposed  to  this  great  evil,  but  they 
stick  to  party,  right  or  wrong,  for  the  sake  of  old 
issues,  utterly  ignoring  the  great  living  issues  which  de 
mand  attention.  The  party  is  managed  by  a  few  poli 
ticians,  and  they  would  rather  be  in  office  than  be 
right.  If  they  can,  climb  into  power  from  the  top  of  a 
beer  keg  or  a  whisky  barrel,  up  they  mount  and  in 
they  go,  with  a  long,  loud  shout  for  'personal  liberty.' 
When  the  leaders  crack  the  whip  the  whole  servile  herd 
trots  along  at  their  heels.  And  this  is  the  reason  why 
the  rattlesnake  lives  and  grows." 

"You  talk  like  one  who  is  about  to  throw  the  old 
party  overboard,"  said  Spence. 

"I  feel  like  one  who  is  about  to  be  thrown  over 
board  by  the  party.  But  I  do  not  know  yet  what  I 
shall  do.  One  thing  I  do  know — I'll  never  sacrifice 
my  manhood  for  office.  I  '11  not  buy  the  State's  attor 
ney's  office  with  corrupt  bargains  with  the  enemies  of 
the  law.  I  can  afford  to  be  defeated  if  the  people  can 
afford  to  be  served  in  that  way.  But  enough  of  this. 


THE    DEVIL    CAST    OUT.  319 

I  Ve  wandered  from  the  subject.  I  am  interested  to 
night  in  persuading  you  to  abandon  a  reprehensible 
business.  I  would  rather  succeed  in  that  than  be 
elected  State's  attorney.  There  is  the  making  of  a 
noble  man  in  you,  if  you  will  turn  your  attention  to 
some  honorable  employment.  You  will  excuse  me  for 
talking  plainly,  for  I  can  not  do  otherwise.  I  'm  in 
earnest,  Spence.  I  have  a  warm  regard  for  you.  And 
let  me  tell  you  that  you  have  many  warm  friends  in 
this  town  who  would  shed  tears  of  joy  if  you  would 
to-day  pledge  me  never  to  sell  another  drop  of 
liquor." 

These  earnest  words  seemed  to  soften  the  heart  of 
Marion  Spence.  He  said  in  a  husky  voice : 

"Mr.  Manning,  you  are  my  friend;  but  the  tem 
perance  people  of  Wellington,  as  a  general  rule,  treat 
me  as  a  dog  and  not  as  a  human  being.  They  spend 
their  time  in  abusing  saloon-keepers,  and  not  in  trying 
to  save  them.  Do  they  expect  to  redeem  men  by  pass 
ing  them  as  if  they  were  lepers  ?  Was  this  Christ's 
way?  If  the  interest  you  have  shown  for  me  lately 
had  been  manifested  by  respectable  temperance  people 
years  ago,  I  believe  I  would  not  now  be  in  the  saloon 
business.  The  treatment  I  have  received  has  served 
but  to  harden  my  heart.  I  believe  you  are  the  only 
real  friend  I  have  among  them." 

"Not  so,  Mr.  Spence.  You  have  one  friend  be 
sides,  if  no  more  —  one  warm,  true  friend,  who  has 
prayed  for  your  redemption  more  than  once.  Let  me 
read  you  her  letter,  or  rather  that  part  of  it  in  which 
you  are  interested.  I  received  it  this  morning,  and  had 
just  finished  reading  it  when  you  came  in.  That  is  the 
reason  why  I  was  thinking  of  you  and  your  business 
at  that  time." 

"  Who  is  the  letter  from  ?" 

"Miss  Oaktord." 

' '  I  thought  so  ;  yes,  I  thought  so.  Mr.  Manning, 
I  had  forgotten.  I  have  two  friends  among  the  tem 
perance  people." 


32O  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

' '  You  will  have  good  reason  to  believe  that  when 
you  have  heard  the  letter.  After  referring  to  certain 
matters  of  business,  she  writes  :  '  Mr.  Manning,  I  was  an 
eye-witness  the  other  day  of  one  of  the  saddest  events 
which  ever  occurred  on  a  train  of  cars  inNew  Eng 
land.  A  large  crowd  had  gathered  at  one  of  the  sta 
tions  through  which  we  passed.  There  had  been  some 
sort  of  political  meeting  there  that  day,  and  some  of 
the  men  were  evidently  under  the  influence  of  liquor. 
They  were  swearing  and  talking  in  a  loud  voice.'  As 
the  train  came  to  a  stop,  I  looked  out  of  the  window, 
and  saw  a  young  couple,  neatly  dressed,  and  apparently 
in  good  circumstances,  elbowing  their  way  forward 
towards  the  car  in  which  I  was  sitting.  The  woman 
had  a  babe  in  her  arms.  Her  eyes  were  red  and  swol 
len  with  weeping.  The  man  by  her  side,  who  was  cer 
tainly  her  husband,  as  I  afterwards  learned,  was  in  a 
semi-intoxicated  state.  He  spoke  to  her  harshly,  and 
bade  her  follow  him  as  he  staggered  forward  towards 
the  coach.  Just  then  she  slipped  her  hand  into  his 
coat  pocket  and  drew  away  a  pint-bottle  and  dropped 
it  beneath  the  car.  In  the  hurry  and  confusion  her 
act  was  not  noticed  by  her  husband. 

"  'Oh,  what  a  story  of  wretchedness  this  little  act 
told !  Of  a  husband,  kind  and  loving,  perhaps,  when 
sober,  but  harsh  and  brutal  when  intoxicated !  Of  a 
timid,  trembling  girl-wife,  striving  in  her  feeble  way  to 
defend  herself  and  her  babe  from  the  brutality  begotten 
by  alcohol ! 

"  '  Well,  they  came  into  the  car.  The  husband 
left  his  wife,  and  staggered  forward  into  the  smoking- 
car.  She  held  her  babe  close  to  her  heart,  crying  softly 
to  herself  in  her  misery.  Poor  child  !  She  may  have 
been  thinking  of  blows  and  curses  to  be  received  from 
her  husband  when  she  should  reach  home ! 

"  'Suddenly  the  husband  reappeared, and, in  a  harsh, 
passionate  voice,  accused  her  of  stealing  his  bottle. 
She  seemed  frightened  and  bewildered.  She  accused 
her  drunken  brother,  who  sat  in  the  front  part  of  the 


THE    DEVIL   CAST   OUT.  321 

car,  of  having  taken  the  bottle.  In  a  moment  the  two 
men  were  engaged  in  an  altercation.  One  drew  a 
knife,  and  the  other  a  revolver.  With  a  scream,  the 
wife  sprang  to  her  feet.  The  revolver  was  discharged 
just  as  the  conductor  and  some  of  the  passengers  seized 
the  combatants,  and  the  ball  missed  its  mark.  Then 
I  heard  the  most  pitiful,  despairing  cry  I  had  ever 
listened  to,  and  immediately  thereafter  the  poor  wife 
and  mother  fell  into  the  arms  of  those  who  sprang  for 
ward  to  prevent  her  from  falling  to  the  floor.  I,  too, 
hastened  forward  to  help.  O  my  God !  what  a  sight 
met  my  eyes !  A  stream  of  blood  was  running  down 
from  the  neck  of  the  babe.  The  ball  had  severed  the 
great  artery.  As  I  threw  my  arm  around  the  mother, 
the  innocent  little  creature  gasped  its  last  breath.  The 
drunken  father  had  fired  the  shot  which  killed  his  sleeping 
babe  ! 

"'O  Mr.  Manning,  what  do  you  think  of  laws 
which  license  such  damnable  deeds!  I  learned  that 
the  father  was  a  kind  man  except  when  in  liquor.  But 
for  his  intoxication  this  crime  had  not  been  committed. 
I  hold  that  the  man  who  sold  the  liquor  was  an  acces 
sory  before  the  fact,  for  he  knew  that  men,  when  de 
prived  of  reason  by  strong  drink,  are  ready  for  the 
commission  of  crime. 

"'With  this  incident  harrowing  my  mind  as  I  sit 
here  in  my  room  to-night,  I  write  to  ask  you  to  see 
Marion  Spence  without  delay,  and  beg  him,  for  the 
sake  of  the  suffering,  the  innocent,  the  helpless,  to  give 
up  a  business  which  is  nothing  but  a  curse  to  the  world. 
Implore  him  to  turn  his  energies  into  a  noble  channel. 
Let  him  know  that  I  am  praying  for  him  daily,  and  will 
not  cease  to  pray  for  him  till  the  glad  day  of  his  re 
demption  comes.  I  send  a  strange  souvenir  in  this 
letter.  Give  it  to  him.  Perhaps  it  may  help  him  to 
cut  loose  from  the  evil  life  he  has  been  leading.  This 
piece  of  ribbon,  stained  with  innocent  blood — let  him 
look  at  it,  and  behold  the  natural  fruit  of  his  business. 
I  wore  that  ribbon  when  I  threw  my  arm  around  the 


322  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

heart-broken  mother,  and  the  stain  is  the  blood  of  her 
child  —  murdered  by  the  saloon  traffic  !  Another  of 
the  thousands  of  victims  that  mark  the  onward  march 
of  this  Juggernaut ! 

"  'Beg  Mr.  Spence,  for  God's  sake,  for  humanity's 
sake,  for  his  own  sake,  to  close  his  saloon  at  once  and 
forever!" 

When  Mr.  Manning  looked  up  from  the  letter, 
Marion  Spence  was  sitting  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees 
and  his  face  buried  in  his  hands.  From  between  the 
repentant  sinner's  fingers  a  tear  fell  softly  to  the  floor. 
Elizabeth's  appeal  had  moved  him  as  the  lawyer's  logic 
could  not  have  done.  Presently  he  raised  his  head. 
Manning  handed  him  the  piece  of  stained  ribbon.  He 
shuddered,  and  again  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 
Perhaps  he  himself  was  a  murderer.  Who  could  tell 
the  far-reaching  consequences  of  an  act  ?  He  sat  for  a 
moment  in  silence.  Then  he  arose,  put  on  his  hat, 
pulled  it  down  over  his  eyes,  grasped  William  Manning 
by  the  hand,  and  said,  in  a  broken  voice : 

"Manning,  I'm  conquered  at  last.  I'll  close  my 
saloon  now  and  forever.  Write  to  her,  and  tell  her  that 
her  prayers  are  answered." 

And  then  he  hurried  away  to  carry  his  resolution 
itito  effect. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

A    PRIMARY    CONVENTION. 

On  Saturday,  July  29,  1876,  the  primaries  were 
held  for  the  selection  of  delegates  to  the  county  con 
vention  which  was  to  meet  at  Wellington  during  the 
following  week  to  nominate  candidates  for  county  offi 
ces.  There  were  only  two  aspirants  for  the  State's 
attorney's  office  from  that  party  to  which  Manning  and 
Sawtheaire  belonged,  but  the  sacrificial  offerings  for  the 
other  offices  were  numerous.  Five  true  and  loyal  citi 
zens,  at  the  urgent  solicitation  of  "many  friends," 
had  consented,  for  the  public  good,  to  sacrifice  their 
business  and  personal  desires  by  becoming  candidates 
for  the  office  of  circuit  clerk  ;  and  eight  equally  true  and 
loyai  men  had  yielded  to  the  exigencies  of  the  public 
affairs  by  agreeing  to  abandon  the  plow-handle  and 
pitchfork  for  the  sheriffs  writ  and  noo?e.  It  thus  ap 
peared  that  the  contest  was  likely  to  be  a  spirited  one, 
and  that  the  choice  of  a  candidate  for  one  office  might 
be  determined,  to  some  extent,  by  the  bargains  which 
might  be  made  with  candidates  for  the  other  offices. 
For  those  who  were  endowed  with  speculative  tenden 
cies,  this  Saturday  morning  was  pregnant  with  great 
opportunities  such  as  might  be  found  at  a  race-track 
or  base-ball  ground.  The  saloon-keepers  were  loud  in 
their  assertions  that  Sawtheaire  would  be  supported  by 
a  majority  of  the  delegates  this  day  to  be  chosen,  and 
were  heard  in  their  saloons  and  upon  the  street  corners 
offering  to  bet  large  sums  on  their  champion's  success. 
Manning's  friends,  as  a  rule,  were  not  given  to  betting 
or  gambling ;  and  those  of  them  who  were  susceptible 
to  temptation  in  this  direction  ha,d  themselves  such 
serious  misgivings  as  to  his  success  that  they  did  not 
feel  like  "backing  their  judgment  with  their  money," 
to  use  the  classic  expression  by  which  betting  on  elec- 


324  A    SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

tions  is  transformed  from  gambling  into  a  high-toned 
exercise  of  the  intellectual  powers.  As  a  consequence 
of  this  fact,  Sawtheaire  had  the  benefit  of  the  suppo 
sition  that  even  Manning's  friends  had  no  confidence  in 
the  success  of  the  man  they  were  supporting ;  which, 
with  certain  "lewd  fellows  of  the  baser  sort, "  was  more 
potent  than  any  kind  of  logic  except  the  logic  of  a 
bribe. 

Manning  and  Sawtheaire  gave  their  undivided  atten 
tion  to  the  management  of  the  primary  convention  at 
Wellington,  leaving  their  interests  in  the  other  parts  of 
the  county  in  the  hands  of  their  friends.  They  entered 
the  court-room  at  the  appointed  hour,  and  found  them 
selves  in  the  midst  of  a  large  company  of  "uncrowned 
kings,"  whose  principal  business  seemed  to  be  to  buzz 
like  a  bee-hive.  Those  of  the  saloon-keepers  at  Wel 
lington  who  belonged  to  this  great  party  had  already 
taken  conspicuous  positions  in  that  corner  of  the  room 
dedicated  to  the  use  of  the  petit  jury.  Joe  Jimson  ap 
peared  in  the  crowd  in  all  his  glory,  his  red  eyes  and 
face  speaking  eloquently  of  the  power  of  his  constant 
companion,  the  bottle,  to  heighten  the  glow  of  the 
human  countenance.  The  minions  of  the  saloon  power 
were  all  out  in  full  force,  with  banners  flying,  deter 
mined  that  Sawtheaire,  friend  of  "  personal  liberty, " 
etc.,  etc.,  should  receive  the  support  of  the  city  of 
Wellington.  Because  of  its  population,  this  city  was 
entitled  to  twice  as  many  delegates  as  any  other  town 
ship  in  the  county ;  and  inasmuch  as  the  rural  town 
ships  were  expected  to  support  Manning,  there  was 
absolute  necessity  for  making  sure  of  the  cities,  which 
were  the  centers  and  support  of  the  saloon  power. 

Colonel  Mansfield  came  into  the  court-room  and 
took  a  back  seat.  Marion  Spence,  no  longer  a  saloon 
keeper,  was  there  too,  but  not  in  the  corner  magnani 
mously  allotted  to  those  who  had  been  but  lately  his 
business  compeers.  About  time  for  calling  the  con 
vention  to  order,  Squire  Ingleside  marched  down  the 
main  aisle,  and  took  a  conspicuous  place  in  front,  where 


A    PRIMARY    CONVENTION.  32$ 

he  exposed  his  Douglas-like  face  to  the  gaze  of  the 
multitude.  It  will  thus  be  seen  that  William  Man 
ning  was  not  without  support,  though  he  wished  him 
self  a  Robinson  Crusoe  on  a  lonely  island  in  mid-ocean, 
where  conventions  and  politics  were  unknown. 

Suddenly  the  chairman  of  the  township  committee 
arose,  and  rapped  violently  on  a  desk  in  an  effort  to  be 
heard  above  the  noise  and  hubbub  which  reigned  in  the 
room.  But  the  noise  went  on.  Earnest  electioneerers 
were  not  yet  ready  to  bridle  their  tongues  and  submit 
to  the  dictates  of  a  chairman.  With  commendable 
perseverance  the  chairman  continued  to  rap  ;  and  at 
last  the  crowd  hearkened  and  the  tumult  partially  sub 
sided.  When  it  was  possible  for  anything  softer  than  a 
steam-whistle  to  be  heard,  the  chairman  shouted  forth 
in  stentorian  tones  that  the  convention  would  now 
come  to  order  and  proceed  to  a  permanent  organization 
by  the  election  of  a  chairman  and  secretary.  The 
prospect  of  an  opportunity  for  exercising  that  function 
which  is  esteemed  so  sacred  by  Americans,  that  is  to 
say,  the  exalted  function  of  "votin',"  had  the  effect  of 
oil  on  troubled  waters.  The  noise  died  away  till  naught 
but  an  occasional  whisper  was  heard.  Forthwith 
Henry  Anderson  arose,  and  in  a  short  speech,  which 
contained  a  flattering  tribute  of  praise  to  that  distin 
guished  gentleman  who  was  now,  by  the  suffrages  of 
the  citizens  of  Wellington,  occupying  the  exalted 
station  of  mayor,  proposed  that  the  said  gentleman,  . 
the  Honorable  the  Mayor  Trinkenviellager,  be  called 
to  the  chair  as  the  presiding  officer  of  this  convention. 
Before  he  had  concluded,  several  notable  individuals, 
among  them  our  friend  Joe  Jimson,  were  on  their  feet ; 
and  when  the  last  word  had  fallen  from  the  speaker's 
lips,  these  men  shouted  with  one  voice  :  "I  second  the 
nomination  !" 

Thereupon  Squire  Ingleside  straightened  himself  up 
and  stated  that  he  desired  to  propose  the  name  of  that 
distinguished  parliamentarian,  Colonel  Mansfield,  for  the 
responsible  office  of  chairman  ;  but  before  any  of  his 


326  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

compeers  could  get  up  in  support  of  this  nomination, 
Henry  Anderson  again  obtained  the  recognition  of  the 
temporary  chairman,  and  moved  that  Mayor  Trinken- 
viellager  be  elected  by  acclamation.  "I  second  the 
motion,"  shouted  a  chorus  of  voices.  And  now  arose  a 
tumult  like  that  resulting  from  the  confusion  of  tongues 
at  the  tower  of  Babel ;  the  lips  of  the  chairman  were 
seen  to  move,  but  what  he  said  was  known  to  himself 
alone;  then  there  were  vociferous  cries  of  "Aye," 
"Aye,"  and  "  No,"  "No,"  and  the  chairman  resorted 
to  the  approved  process  of  pounding  on  the  desk  for 
order.  At  length  a  certain  degree  of  order  justified 
the  chairman  in  shouting  out,  from  the  midst  of  the 
storm,  an  emphatic  declaration  that  Mayor  Trinken- 
viellager  had  been  chosen  permanent  presiding  officer. 
Two  or  three  determined  voices  cried  out,  "No," 
"  No,"  but  their  opposition  soon  died  away,  and  the 
Mayor  waddled  majestically  forward  and  took  his  posi 
tion  in  the  judge's  stand,  amidst  the  prolonged  ap 
plause  of  his  admirers  and  the  shrill  whistling  of  the 
boys.  At  this  point  Colonel  Mansfield  took  his  hat 
and  retired  from  the  convention  to  look  after  the  inter 
ests  of  his  customers. 

The  Mayor  addressed  the  convention  as  follows  : 
"First,  I  danks  dis  convention  for  de  office  vot  I 
now  haf  de  honor  to  hold.  Dis  is  an  important  con 
vention.  Dis  is  de  great  barty  of  lipperty  vot  fight 
mit  de  consumption  laws,  vich  say  —  vich  say  vot  a 
man  eat  und  drink.  Here  ve  haf  our  lipperties,  if  ve 
keep  de  cranks  oonder.  If  ve  do  dat,  dis  is  a  great 
country.  Here  efery  man  can  vote  mit  his  own  opin 
ions.  I  hope  you  vill  pull  togedder  und  nominate  men 
for  de  goot  of  de  barty.  Ve  must  haf  men  ve  can 
elect.  See  ?  Ve  can  't  elect  men  who  are  not  mit  lip 
perty.  See  ?  " 

Here  the  Mayor's  speech  was  interrupted  by  thun 
derous  applause.  The  saloon-keepers  looked  at  one 
another  and  shook  their  heads  approvingly.  One  voice 
exclaimed,  "Dot  is  goot!"  Another,  "That  sounds 


A    PRIMARY    CONVENTION.  327 

loike  the  docthrine  of  the  ould  sod,  bedad  !  "  And  an 
other,  "Heavens  alive !  you  're  abeout  right  there,  ol' 
man!" 

By  this  time  the  Mayor  had  forgotten  the  remain 
der  of  his  speech,  and  the  convention  proceeded  to  the 
election  of  a  secretary. 

Now  Squire  Ingleside  felt  that  he  had  been  out 
generaled  by  the  opposition  in  the  choice  of  a  chair 
man,  and  determined  to  have  his  revenge  by  the  elec 
tion  of  one  of  Manning's  friends  to  discharge  the  im 
portant  and  overwhelming  duties  of  secretary.  "I 
think  this  is  the  course  the  late  Senator  would  have 
taken,"  was  his  reflection.  So  he  arose  with  less  than 
his  wonted  deliberation,  and  nominated  Marion  Spence 
for  the  office  of  secretary.  To  his  surprise  and  gratifi 
cation,  no  opposition  was  made,  and  Spence  was  elected 
without  a  dissenting  voice.  "If  you  can  keep  a  dog 
away  from  the  larder  with  a  bone,  you  're  doing  well," 
some  one  was  heard  to  say.  But  the  Squire  congratu 
lated  himself  on  his  finesse  in  the  management  of  a 
convention.  "  If  I  had  only  known  in  time  that  the 
convention  was  really  open,  I  would  have  secured  the 
chair  for  Colonel  Mansfield  without  doubt,"  he  thought. 
And  he  was  sincere  in  this  opinion. 

After  other  preliminaries  had  been  settled,  Henry 
Anderson  arose  once  more  and  spoke  as  follows  : 

"  Mr.  Chairman,  and  gentlemen  of  the  Convention, 
this  is  an  important  hour.  Standing  here  in  the  pres 
ence  of  this  large  body  of  intelligent  and  enlightened 
freemen,  I  feel  almost  oppressed  with  a  sense  of  the 
great  responsibility  weighing  upon  us.  It  is  well  known 
that  our  party  is  the  great  conservator  of  the  rights 
and  liberties  of  the  people  of  the  United  States  of 
America.  What  would  be  the  effect  on  this  great 
nation  if  our  opponents  should  succeed  in  electing  a 
circuit  clerk,  sheriff  or  State's  attorney  in  this  great 
county  of  ours?  I  answer  that,  in  my  judgment,  it 
would  be  one  of  the  direst  calamities  that  has  befallen 
us  as  a  nation  since  the  close  of  the  late  war.  Its 


328  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

effect  would  reach  beyond  the  county,  and  be  felt 
throughout  the  entire  State ;  from  the  State  its  ruinous 
consequences  would  extend  even  to  the  center  of  the 
general  government,  and  foreigners  would  exultingly 
exclaim  :  '  The  fall  of  the  American  Republic  is  now 
assured.  This  is  the  beginning  of  the  end.  The  coun 
ty  of  Trinkenviellager  and  Mansfield  has  gone  over  to 
the  opposition,  and  the  rights  and  liberties  of  the 
American  people  are  no  longer  secure.'  Yes,  Mr. 
Chairman,  in  view  of  such  a  dreadful  catastrophe,  I 
behold  that  swift-winged  bird,  the  emblem  of  Ameri 
can  greatness,  the  mighty  eagle,  that  soars  aloft  and 
looks  the  sun  boldly  in  the  eye,  taking  its  departure 
from  our  inhospitable  soil,  and  seeking  some  other 
clime  where  liberty  yet  lives  in  the  hearts  and  ballots 
of  the  people.  Therefore,  in  order  that  this  great 
national  calamity  may  not  befall  us,  I  move  you  that 
the  delegates  selected  by  this  convention  be  instructed 
to  vote  as  a  unit  in  the  county  convention." 

Wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  brow,  Henry  An 
derson  resumed  his  seat.  His  speech  had  electrified 
the  audience.  Upon  the  use  of  the  word  liberty  he 
had  been  loudly  applauded.  When  he  reached  that 
sublime  passage  in  which  he  so  graphically  described 
the  departure  of  the  eagle  from  American  soil,  there 
was  the  hush  of  death  throughout  the  court-room,  and 
men  almost  ceased  to  breathe  when  they  contemplated 
a  destiny  so  humiliating.  When  they  had  sufficiently 
recovered  from  the  effects  of  this  stirring  oration,  sev 
eral  freemen  arose  to  second  the  motion,  caring  very 
little  what  the  motion  was,  so  that  it  proceeded  from 
their  faction. 

Squire  Ingleside  was  ruminating  on  the  consequences 
of  this  motion.  He  saw  exactly  the  purpose  of  it,  but 
was  by  no  means  satisfied  that  it  would  work  to  Man 
ning's  disadvantage.  He  decided,  however,  that  as  it 
came  from  Henry  Anderson,  who  was  Sawtheaire's 
champion,  it  ought  to  be  opposed  for  that  reason,  if 
for  no  other.  So  he  arose,  and,  having  obtained  the 


A    PRIMARY    CONVENTION.  3  20 

recognition  of  the  chair,  with  a  magnetic  wave  of  his 
hand,  began : 

"Mr.  Chairman,  and  gentlemen  of  the  Convention: 
Bear  with  me  while  I  endeavor  to  discuss,  with  that 
deliberation  and  gravity  becoming  the  descendants  of 
those  who  fled  from  oppression  to  our  genial  shores — 
now  genial,  indeed ;  then  inhospitable — bear  with  me, 
I  repeat,  while  I  thus  discuss  the  weighty  motion  which 
has  just  been  made  by  the  honorable  gentleman  from — 
ah !  pardon  me — the  honorable  gentleman  who  has  just 
preceded  me.  I  repeat  it,  sir,  we  are  the  descendants 
of  those  men  whose  ancestors  had  been  ground  beneath 
the  heels  of  despots  for  many  weary  ages,  who  rose  at 
length,  in  the  spirit  of  the  barons  at  Runnymede,  and 
fled  from  the  land  of  oppression  to  the  wild  and  barren 
shores  of  America.  Is  there  a  man  here  who  dares 
deny  this  proposition  ?  If  there  is,  let  him  stand  forth 
and  deny  it.  As  the  champion  of  truth  and  liberty,  I 
hold  myself  ready  to  verify,  by  the  indubitable  proofs 
of  history,  every  statement  I  have  made.  Did  not  the 
Pilgrims  come  to  Massachusetts  in  the  Mayflower?" 
Here  the  Squire  was  interrupted  by  cries  of  "Yes! 
yes !  "  ' '  Hear !  hear  !  "  and  "  Good  !  good ! ' '  Embold 
ened  by  these  expressions  of  approval,  he  went  on: 
'_'  Where,  sir,  is  the  loyal  American  citizen  who  dares 
face  me  in  debate  on  that  proposition?  Did  not  Will 
iam  Penn  establish  a  colony  in  what  is  now  the  great 
State  of  Pennsylvania  ?  Is  there  a  man  here,  sir,  who 
dares  deny  that  assertion  ?  If  there  is,  let  him  stand 
forth  and  deny  it.  I  pause  for  a  reply."  While  wait 
ing  for  a  reply,  the  Squire  took  a  fresh  chew  of  fine-cut 
tobacco.  Then  he  continued:  "I  take  it  for  granted, 
from  the  silence  of  this  vast  audience,  that  the  propo 
sition  laid  down  at  the  beginning  of  this  address  has 
been  established  to  the  satisfaction  of  all.  For  these 
and  other  weighty  reasons,  which  will  readily  occur  to 
every  thinking  mind,  I  am  opposed  to  the  motion  of 
the  gentleman  who  has  just  preceded  me ;  and  so  I 
shall  vote.  I  well  remember  the  remark  of  the  late 


33O  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY" 

Senator  Douglas,  when  closing  an  argument  on  an 
important  question.  Raising  his  hand  towards  heaven, 
he  said,  solemnly  :  '  So  I  shall  vote. ' '  The  Squire  sat 
down  amidst  the  applause  of  his  faction  and  the  hisses 
of  the  opposition. 

Now  arose  cries  of  "  Question  !  question  !  "  Jacob 
Haynes,  who  had  been  nervously  stroking  his  beard 
during  this  heated  and  learned  debate,  arose  to  say 
that  the  county  convention  would  probably  not  con 
sider  itself  bound  by  any  such  action  at  the  primary. 
He  shouted  with  all  his  power  in  an  endeavor  to  at 
tract  the  attention  of  the  chairman.  Not  being  able 
to  make  himself  heard  above  those  who  were  clamoring 
for  the  question,  he  sat  down  in  disgust,  with  a  savage 
expression  of  countenance,  and  resumed  the  stroking 
of  his  beard. 

The  question  was  finally  submitted ;  and  while  the 
volume  of  sound  against  the  motion  was  as  great  as 
that  in  favor  of  it,  the  chairman  declared  the  motion 
carried.  A  howl  of  dissatisfaction,  mingled  with  shouts 
of  "Division  !  "  now  saluted  the  ears  of  all  concerned, 
and  it  was  only  after  a  great  deal  of  pounding  on  the 
desk  with  his  cane  that  the  chairman  was  able  to  quell 
the  disturbance.  As  soon  as  he  could  be  heard,  he 
called  out  angrily : 

"  Ven  de  chair  speaks,  you  shust  keep  quiet.  Ven 
I  say  carried,  dat  settles  it.  You  try  to  dake  away  our 
lipperties.  You  cand  do  dat.  Keep  schtill !  " 

The  convention  now  proceeded  to  the  selection  of 
delegates.  Two  tickets  were  presented  and  voted  upon. 
There  was  a  contest  all  along  the  line,  but  the  main 
contest  was  upon  the  office  of  State's  attorney.  When 
the  ballots  were  counted,  and  the  names  of  the  dele 
gates  chosen  announced,  it  was  known  that  ten  of  the 
nineteen  were  in  favor  of  Sawtheaire,  and  nine,  of  Man 
ning.  But  under  the  unit  rule  which  had  been  adopted, 
the  whole  delegation  would  be  required  to  vote  for 
Sawtheaire.  Amidst  great  disorder  the  convention 
adjourned,  and  the  saloon-keepers  and  their  friends 


A    PRIMARY    CONVENTION.  331 

held  a  grand  jubilee  over  their  victory.  Beer  and 
whisky  flowed  freely,  and  the  "boys"  who  had  con 
tributed  to  Sawtheaire's  success  celebrated  that  event 
in  the  most  approved  manner.  To  Henry  Anderson 
especially  there  was  owing  a  debt  of  gratitude  from  the 
friends  of  "personal  liberty,"  and  in  no  way  could 
that  debt  be  more  feelingly  discharged  than  by  making 
him  drunk.  So  these  disinterested  friends  manifested 
their  appreciation  of  Henry  Anderson's  services  by 
treating  him  repeatedly,  and  sounding  his  praises  to 
an  accompaniment  of  clinking  glasses;  the  result  of 
all  which  was  that,  as  the  gentleman  thus  so  highly 
honored  tore  himself  away  at  last  from  the  society  of 
his  friends,  he  was  in  a  state  of  intoxication.  Some 
one  inadvertently  remarked : 

"Anderson  is  drunk,  sure  enough,  this  time  !  Look 
at  him  !  He  plunges  along  like  a  ship  in  a  storm !" 

"Vot  you  say  drunk  for?"  asked  Mayor  Trinken- 
viellager,  indignantly.  "  He 's  a  leetle  full ;  dat  ish  all. " 

"When  is  a  man  drunk,  then?"  asked  the  other. 

"Drunk?"  replied  the  Mayor.  "  Ven  he  go  down 
flat  like  a  log." 

And  this  is  the  idea  some  men  have  of  what  it  takes 
to  constitute  drunkenness. 

Henry  Anderson  staggered  along  the  sidewalk  in 
the  direction  of  home.  The  farther  he  went,  the  more 
limber  he  became.  He  made  several  ineffectual  efforts 
before  he  succeeded  in  opening  the  gate,  and  as  he 
turned  to  close  it,  slipped  and  fell  upon  the  walk.  After 
several  attempts  he  regained  his  feet,  holding  to  the 
gate-post  till  he  had  balanced  himself  for  another  ex 
cursion,  and  then  began  his  zigzag  course  to  the  house. 
All  this  was  in  full  view  of  his  wife  and  daughter  from 
the  sitting-room  window. 

Poor  sufferers !  The  afternoon  had  dragged  along 
heavily  for  them.  Katie,  who  had  recovered  so  as  to 
be  able  to  sit  by  the  window  and  read  or  look  out  at 
the  passers-by,  had  been  resting  there  in  a  large  rock 
ing-chair  this  afternoon,  counting  the  minutes  as  they 


332  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARV. 

passed  slowly  away,  and  dreading  the  return  of  her 
father  from  the  temptations  incident  to  the  convention. 
She  had  held  a  book  before  her  face  as  if  reading,  lest 
her  mother  should  divine  her  thoughts  and  find  occasion 
for  increased  anxiety  on  her  own  part.  But  she  could 
not  read.  The  book  had  presented  to  her  eyes  a 
blurred  page.  She  had  been  thinking  all  the  while  of 
what  was  going  on  at  the  convention,  of  the  lying  and 
scheming  and  drinking,  and  of  her  father's  part  in  the 
effort  to  defeat  her  lover — no,  not  her  lover,  but  William 
Manning — and  of  the  probability  that  her  father  would 
return  home  under  the  influence  of  liquor,  and  perhaps 
more  quarrelsome  and  disagreeable  than  ever  before. 

If  the  daughter,  young,  hopeful,  buoyant  in  spirits, 
with  the  bright  side  of  life  lining  even  the  clouds  above 
her,  had  thus  been  trembling  in  anticipation  of  her 
father's  return,  what  must  have  been  the  feelings  of  the 
faithful  wife  around  whom  the  shadows  were  now  length 
ening,  and  for  whom  life  was  already  donning  its  mel 
ancholy  garments!  With  sad  heart  and  trembling 
hands,  she  had  busied  herself  with  her  household 
duties,  praying  with  every  breath  that  her  husband 
might  come  home  sober,  and  yet  praying  faithlessly, 
hopelessly. 

"O  mother!  mother!"  cried  Katie  in  keenest  an 
guish.  The  words  and  the  tone  in  which  they  were 
spoken  told  Mrs.  Anderson  the  whole  story,  and  she 
hastened  to  her  daughter's  side  to  find  her  worst  fears 
confirmed.  She  saw  her  husband's  efforts  to  open  the 
gate ;  she  saw  him  fall  and  struggle  to  his  feet ;  she  saw 
him  stagger  up  the  walk  to  the  house  ;  she  heard  him  fall 
heavily  on  the  porch ;  and  then,  blinded  with  tears,  she 
went  out  to  help  him  into  the  house.  It  required  all  her 
strength  to  assist  him  to  his  feet  and  to  the  couch  in 
the  sitting-room,  where  he  sank  down  in  a  drunken 
sleep.  She  took  her  place  at  his  side,  rested  her  hand 
lovingly  on  his  brow,  and  wept  and  prayed,  and  prayed 
and  wept,  till  James  entered  the  room  and  drew  her 
away  from  the  couch. 


A    PRIMARY    CONVENTION.  333 

"Mother, "he  said,  his  face  flushing  with  indig 
nation,  "  come  away  from  that  couch.  When  a  man 
makes  a  beast  of  himself,  he  is  n't  worthy  of  a  good 
woman's  tears." 

"O  James!  James!"  interrupted  Mrs.  Anderson. 

"It's  true,  mother,  true  as  Gospel.  What  is  a  man 
when  drunk  but  a  beast?  Is  n't  he  worse  than  a  beast — 
a  helpless,  inanimate  piece  of  clay?" 

"James,  you  must  not  speak  thus  of  your  father!" 
said  Mrs.  Anderson  imperatively,  drying  her  tears. 
"You  dishonor  him.  I  will  not  listen  to  such  language 
even  from  my  own  son." 

"He  dishonors  himself,  mother,  and  disgraces  his 
family.  How  many  times  have  you  pleaded  with  him 
to  quit  drinking  ?  How  many  times  has  he  promised 
you  to  do  so  ?  How  many  times  has  he  broken  his 
promise  ?  I  tell  you,  a  few  more  scenes  like  this  will 
turn  my  heart  against  him.  Hasn't  he  any  regard 
for  you  and  for  Katie,  or  for  his  own  reputation,  or 
the  reputation  of  the  family  ?  I,  for  one,  do  n't  aspire 
to  the  distinction  of  being  Icnown  as  a  drunkard's  son. 
If  this  sort  of  thing  is  to  continue,  I  'm  going  to  leave, 
and  I  want  you  and  Katie  to  go  with  me." 

"And  leave  my  husband,  James?  Never — never! 
He  is  my  husband,  with  all  his  faults.  I  love  him — 
I  love  him !  He  needs  my  help  now  more  than 
ever  before ;  and  I  '11  never  leave  him  till  the  grave 
bars  me  away — never !  O  James  !  you  do  n't  under 
stand,  you  can  't  understand  a  woman's  love  for  her 
husband  !  "  Here  she  broke  down  again  and  sobbed 
piteously. 

"Well,  mother,  never  mind  what  I  say.  Please, 
please,  don't  cry — we  '11  give  him  another  chance.  But 
I  'm  not  going  to  let  the  saloon-keepers  off  so  easily. 
They  shall  feel  the  power  of  the  law,  if  there  's  a  law 
in  this  blessed  land  that  can  reach  them.  I  'm  going 
to  see  them  Monday — I  '11  try  persuasion  first.  I  '11  tell 
them  that  if  they  sell  to  father  again,  I  '11  make  it  hot 
for  them—" 


334  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"  And  then  what  will  you  do  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Ander 
son,  interrupting  him. 

"I'll  hire  Manning,  and  prosecute  them,  or — or — 
something  worse." 

"James!  you  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  Would 
you  publish  our  family  affairs  to  the  world  ?  " 

"Publish  them!  The  world  knows  our  affairs 
already !  He  has  published  them.  He  published  our 
affairs  when  he  staggered  home  drunk  awhile  ago.  He 
has  disgraced  us  !  '' 

"  You  '11  bring  no  law-suits  with  my  permission." 

"It's  the  only  way  I  can  punish  these  men  who 
are  making  a  drunkard  of  father.  I  will  prosecute 
them." 

"You  must  not,  James.      I  command  you." 

"I  love  you,  mother,  and  for  that  reason  I  will 
prosecute  every  saloon-keeper  who  sells  to  father  from 
this  time  on  !  Mark  my  words  1  And  if  that  does  n't 
answer  the  purpose,  I  '11  do  something  worse.  Manning 
will  help  me  !  I  know  he  will !  I  do  n't  want  a  repeti 
tion  of  that  scene  in  this  house. " 

He  pointed  indignantly  at  his  father's  limp  form, 
and  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A    VICTORY    FOR    THE    SALOON    POWER. 

In  pursuance  of  his  determination,  James  went  to 
the  law  office  of  William  Manning  on  the  following 
Monday.  The  prayers  and  tears  of  his  mother  and 
sister  had  not  sufficed  to  deter  him  from  his  purpose ; 
whereas  the  crossness  and  unkindness  of  his  father 
while  recovering  from  the  debasing  effects  of  his  intox 
ication  had  served  to  confirm  him  in  his  resolution.  He 
disclosed  to  Manning  his  intention  to  prosecute  the 
saloon-keepers. 

"That  is  certainly  the  proper  course  for  you  to 
pursue,"  said  the  lawyer.  "That  is  to  say,  if  you  can 
make  a  case  against  them.  You  shall  have  my  hearty 
cooperation  without  money  and  without  price.  You 
understand  my  feeling  on  the  subject,  and  the  interest  I 
have  in  the  welfare  of  the  family.  As  a  friend  of  the 
family,  I  feel  that  something  must  be  done  at  once, 
or  your  father  will  drift  beyond  the  reach  of  help.  He 
is  going,  going  fast.  He  can  't  hold  out  long  at  the 
present  rate.  I  'm  not  very  hopeful  as  to  the  result  of 
these  prosecutions,  but  they  may  scare  the  saloon 
keepers,  and  that  will  be  something." 

"I  don't  want  to  begin,  Mr.  Manning,  unless  there 
is  seasonable  prospect  of  success.  So  I  've  come  to 
employ  you,  and  to  get  your  honest  opinion  of  the 
case.  What  do  you  think  of  this  law  ?  You  call  it 
the  dram-shop  act,  I  believe.  Is  it  broad  enough  to 
cover  such  a  case  as  father's?  " 

"  I '11  answer  your  first  question  by  saying  that  I 
think  the  law  is  a  very  good  one  ;  I  mean  that  I  think 
the  law  better  than  none.  Of  course  it  recognizes  the 
business,  under  certain  restrictions,  as  lawful.  I  do  n't 
believe  such  a  business  ought  to  be  recognized  or  tol 
erated  by  law  at  all.  Still,  it  is  impossible  just  now  to 

335 


336  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

get  anything  better;  in  fact,  I  'm  surprised  that  the  leg 
islature  had  the  backbone  to  pass  this  law ;  it 's  a  won 
der  that  the  saloon  power  did  not  throttle  the  bill  in 
its  infancy.  So  I,  for  one,  accept  the  law  with  thanks, 
and  say,  '  More,  if  you  please. '  I  want  to  see  the  rat 
tlesnake  killed,  but  while  that  is  impossible,.  I  say,  dis 
able  it  all  you  can ;  extract  its  fangs  as  fast  as  possible, 
watching  all  the  time  for  an  opportunity  to  cut  its  head 
off.  Now  you  have  my  view  of  the  law.  It  gives  us 
some  leverage  ;  therefore  I  'm  in  favor  of  it.  I  hope 
to  see  the  day  when  the  curse  will  be  taken  away,  and 
the  constitution  will  pronounce  the  traffic  unlawful,  and 
refuse  to  license  it,  except  possibly  for  certain  neces 
sary  purposes.  I  believe  that  answers  your  first  ques 
tion." 

"Yes,  and  answers  it  satisfactorily.  Now  about 
the  other  question,  in  which  I  am  more  deeply  inter 
ested  than  in  anything  else." 

"You  mean  whether  the  law  is  broad  enough  to 
cover  your  father's  case  ?  That  will  depend,  of  course, 
on  the  holdings  of  the  courts.  We  can  only  guess  at 
what  the  courts  will  hold  by  considering  the  law  in  its 
terms  and  in  its  history,  in  connection  with  public  sen 
timent,  and  the  education  and  views  of  the  judges  on 
the  liquor  question.  For  instance,  if  you  should  put 
Trinkenviellager  and  men  of  his  views  on  the  supreme 
bench,  the  law  would  be  decapitated  at  the  first  oppor 
tunity,  Put  men  like  Ingleside  there,  and  the  law 
would  receive  a  fair  milk-and-water  construction.  Put 
me  there,  and  I  suppose,  to  be  honest  about  it,  the  law 
would  be  construed  as  strongly  against  the  business  as 
its  terms  and  my  oath  would  permit.  So,  you  see, 
much  depends  on  the  make-up  of  the  judges.  Accord 
ing  to  Trinkenviellager,  there  is  scarcely  such  a  thing  as 
habitual  intoxication.  In  my  view  of  the  matter,  even 
your  father  is  in  the  habit  of  getting  intoxicated.  So 
you  see  how  little  I  know  on  the  subject.  I  can  give 
you  my  opinion,  and  you  can  take  it  for  what  you 
think  it  to  be  worth." 


A   VICTORY    FOR    THE    SALOON    POWER.  337 

"  Certainly.  That  is  all  I  expect,  and  exactly  what 
I  want." 

' '  Well,  then,  here  it  is.  The  statute  authorizes  the 
licensing  of  dram-shops,  and  prohibits  the  sale  of  in 
toxicating  liquors  in  a  less  quantity  than  one  gallon,  or 
in  any  quantity  to  be  drunk  on  the  premises,  or  in  or 
upon  any  adjacent  room,  building,  yard,  premises,  or 
place  of  public  resort,  by  one  who  is  not  duly  licensed 
to  keep  a  dram-shop.  It  provides  the  method  of  taking 
out  license,  concerning  which  you  are  not  now  par 
ticularly  interested.  It  does  n't  interfere  with  the  right 
of  cities  and  towns  to  control  or  prohibit  the  traffic 
where  they  have  power  under  their  charters  to  do  so. 
It  is  aimed  especially  at  the  country  and  unincorporated 
towns  and  villages.  Before  a  license  can  be  issued  a 
three  thousand  dollar  bond  must  be  given,  with  at  least 
two  good  and  sufficient  sureties,  freeholders  of  the  coun 
ty,  and  the  bond  must  be  approved  by  the  officer  who 
issues  the  license.  The  bond  is  conditioned  that  the 
licensee  will  pay  to  all  persons  all  damages  that  they 
may  sustain,  either  in  person,  or  property,  or  means 
of  support,  by  reason  of  the  licensee  selling  or  giving 
away  intoxicating  liquors.  This  bond  may  be  sued 
upon  for  the  use  of  the  person  thus  injured,  or  of  his 
legal  representatives. 

"You  will  see  that  the  conditions  of  this  bond  are 
ironclad  and  to  the  point.  But  here  the  same  difficulty 
is  encountered  that  is  met  everywhere  in  dealing  with 
this  question — the  saloon  power  is  almost  omnipotent. 
Most  saloon-keepers  have  but  little  means,  and  under 
our  exemption  laws  are  in  no  fear  of  executions.  Sue 
them  and  get  judgment,  and  you  have  your  judgment, 
and  that  is  all,  unless  their  bonds  are  good.  Some 
times  their  bonds  are  good,  and  sometimes  not.  You 
have  heard  of  straw  bonds?  If  the  bond  is  insufficient 
in  its  terms,  or  the  security  insufficient,  of  what  use  is 
the  bond  ?  Now,  I  do  n't  say  that  officers  whose  duty 
it  is  to  approve  these  bonds  act  corruptly ;  but  I  do  say 
they  sometimes  act  about  like  this  :  The  saloon-keeper 


A    SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

and  his  friends  appear.  They  are  a  jolly  crowd,  nice 
gentlemen  and  influential  politicians.  It  would  be  too 
bad  to  be  severe  with  these  patriotic  citizens.  It 
would  be  too  hard  to  keep  a  poor  man  out  of  an  honest 
business  because  he  can  not  give  a  bond  with  Gould 
or  Vanderbilt  as  surety.  Who  are  offered  as  sureties? 
Alvin  Harpy  and  Abram  Stunner.  Each  of  these 
gentlemen  says  he  is  worth  four  or  five  thousand  dol 
lars.  Take  out  his  exemptions,  and  he  is  still  worth 
three  thousand  dollars.  That  ought  to  be  sufficient. 
The  poor  man  should  have  a  chance.  The  bond  is  ap 
proved.  The  saloon  is  opened,  and  the  law  violated, 
and  some  poor  woman  deprived  of  her  means  of  support 
through  sales  to  her  drunken  husband.  Suit  is  brought 
on  the  bond,  judgment  obtained,  execution  taken  out, 
and  a  search  instituted  for  property.  It  is  found  that 
the  sureties  largely  overestimated  the  value  of  their 
property  when  the  bond  was  approved,  and  have  gotten 
rid  of  the  excess  over  and  above  their  exemptions,  and 
that  the  execution  must  be  returned,  '  No  property 
found.'  Now  that  is  what  I  call  a  straw  bond;  and 
in  this  way  the  law  is  practically  nullified  by  saloon 
keepers  in  this  State ;  and  this  is  but  a  sample  of  the 
difficulties  encountered  in  the  enforcement  of  this  law. 
"It  is  provided  in  this  statute  that  every  husband, 
wife,  child,  parent,  guardian,  employer  or  other  person 
who  shall  be  injured  in  person,  or  property,  or  means  of 
support,  by  any  intoxicated  person,  or  in  consequence 
of  the  intoxication,  habitual  or  otherwise,  of  any  per 
son,  shall  have  a  right  of  action  in  his  or  her  own  name, 
severally  or  jointly,  against  any  person  or  persons  who 
shall,  by  selling  or  giving  intoxicating  liquors,  have 
caused  the  intoxication,  in  whole  or  in  part,  of  such 
person.  Certain  remedies  are  also  provided  against  the 
owner  of  the  premises,  and  in  certain  cases  fo«r  the  sale 
of  the  building  where  the  liquor  was  sold,  when  occu 
pied  by  a  lessee  for  such  business,  to  satisfy"a  judgment 
against  the  lessee.  These  are  some  of  the  civil  reme 
dies  available  under  the  law." 


A    VICTORY    FOR    THE    SALOON    POWER.  339 

"  But  how  does  the  law  stand  in  the  courts?"  was 
the  pertinent  inquiry.  To  this  Manning  answered : 

"It  is  hard  to  tell  as  yet.  The  law  has  been  in 
force  only  about  two  years,  and  has  not  been  thoroughly 
tested  in  the  courts.  There  are  differences  of  opinion 
and  construction  among  the  circuit  judges.  Some  are 
in  favor  of  taking  it  for  granted  that  the  legislature 
mean  what  they  say,  and  others  seek  to  set  aside  the* 
law  by  construction.  It  depends  very  much  on  whether 
the  judge  views  the  law  through  a  glass  of  water  or  a 
glass  of  old  Bourbon.  And  yet  I  think  the  courts  will 
ultimately  sustain  the  law,  and  give  it  a  liberal  interpre 
tation  for  the  control  of  this  most  unhallowed  business." 

"But  now  suppose  a  suit  should  be  commenced," 
said  James,  "would  father  have  a  right  to  stop  it?" 

"  Not  if  your  mother  had  a  personal  right  to  sue." 

"  Mother  will  not  sue  at  all." 

"Well,  you  can  sue  in  her  name,  and  that  will  be 
all  right  unless  she  interferes  to  stop  the  suit." 

"  I  do  n't  believe  she  will  do  that.  And  yet  I  do  n't 
know.  Father  might  persuade  her  to  do  almost  any 
thing  to  relieve  him  from  embarrassment.  But  I  'm 
determined  to  sue  these  fellows.  I  '11  put  them  to  all 
the  trouble  and  expense  I  can.  I  '11  make  them  pay 
out  costs  and  lawyer's  fees,  if  I  do  n't  succeed  in  doing 
anything  else." 

"  But  you  must  have  some  cause  of  action." 

"They  have  made  father  drunk — surely  that  is 
cause  enough." 

"That  ought  to  be  cause  enough — but  it  isn't. 
Before  your  mother  can  sue  she  must  be  injured  in 
person,  or  property,  or  means  of  support.  I  doubt  very 
much  whether  she  could  make  a  satisfactory  case  now 
under  either  of  those  heads." 

"I'm  sure  Katie  could  sue,  if  mother  won't.  He 
slapped  her  the  other  day,  and  without  any  justifica 
tion,  and  I  '11  swear  he  was  drunk  when  he  did  it." 

"I  wouldn't  drag  my  sister  into  court,"  said  Man 
ning,  coloring  slightly.  "No,  James,  she  is  so  young 


34O  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

and — and — inexperienced — I  would  n't  sue  in  her  name. 
Wait  a  little  while ;  your  mother  will  have  all  the 
causes  of  action  you  can  wish  for  in  the  course  of  a  few 
months  more,  if  your  father  keeps  on  in  his  present 
course.  These  old  drunken  sots  are  after  his  money — 
they  cleave  to  him  with  a  desperate  grasp,  and  his 
natural  generosity  is  fast  making  a  hole  in  his  property. 
When  you  began  this  conversation  I  thought,  on  the 
impulse  of  the  moment,  that  it  would  be  well  to  sue 
at  once ;  but  on  reflection  I  think  it  would  be  best  to 
wait  till  you  have  a  sure  case." 

"But  what  becomes  of  father  in  the  meantime? 
I  'm  not  suing  for  money,  Mr.  Manning.  I  don't  want 
money,  except  as  a  punishment  to  these  men.  Isn't 
there  a  way  to  reach  them  now  f  Perhaps  father  can 
be  saved  yet,  if  saloon-keepers  can  be  made  afraid  to 
sell  to  him.  Waiting  a  few  weeks  or  months  may  seal 
his  doom  ;  and  then  what  good  will  it  do  to  begin 
bringing'  suits ?  If  I  can't  reach  these  men  under  the 

O  O 

law,  I  '11  take  the  law  into  my  own  hands.  They  know 
they  are  ruining  father  and  his  family,  and  yet  they 
defy  us,  and  persist  in  making  him  a  drunkard.  It  is 
but  little  better  than  murder." 

"  It  is  moral  murder!  "  exclaimed  Manning,  moved 
by  the  young  man's  burning  words.  "Yes,  they  know 
they  are  killing  many  a  good,  true  man,  and  yet  de 
fiantly  go  on  in  this  work  of  death.  I  might  say  more. 
I  might  call  it  legalized  murder — and  that  would  ex 
press  but  the  truth  of  the  matter." 

"But  I  want  to  know  what  to  do,  Mr.  Manning. 
Is  n't  there  any  other  law  on  the  subject  ?  Can  't  sa 
loon-keepers  be  punished  for  making  a  man  drunk  ?" 

"  They  can  be  punished  if  they  sell  to  a  man  who 
is  in  the  habit  of  getting  intoxicated." 

"  What  is  the  punishment  ?" 

"A  fine  of  from  twenty  to  one  hundred  dollars,  and 
imprisonment  in  the  county  jail  for  not  less  than  ten 
nor  more  than  thirty  days." 

"  But  suppose  the  saloon-keeper  has  a  license  ?" 


A    VICTORY    FOR    THE    SALOON    POWER.  34! 

"That  is  immaterial.  He  must  not  sell  to  one  who 
is  in  the  habit  of  getting  intoxicated.  This  part  of  the 
law  is  especially  obnoxious  to  saloon-keepers.  They 
do  n't  like  the  idea  of  going  to  jail.  So  there  is  a  move 
on  foot  among  them  to  procure  the  repeal  of  this  law, 
or  at  least  to  procure  the  substitution  of  "or"  for 
"and,"  so  that  the  punishment  may  be  fine  or  impris 
onment.  They  say  that  if  they  can  get  this  change 
made,  they  will  take  care  of  the  State's  attorneys  and 
judges.  Convictions  will  result  in  low  fines  and  no 
imprisonment.  They  openly  boast  that  the  officers 
will  not  dare  do  more.  The  State's  attorney  will  inform 
the  court  that  the  defendant  is  a  good  man,  did  not 
intend  to  violate  the  law,  was  imposed  upon,  etc.,  ask 
leave  to  enter  a  nolle  as  to  all  but  one  charge,  and  rec 
ommend  a  moderate  fine.  The  court  will  hold  that 
the  State's  attorney,  being  advised  as  to  the  nature  of 
the  case  by  the  evidence  before  the  grand  jury,  is  in  a 
position,  to  know  what  ought  to  be  done,  and  will  close 
a  rambling  lecture  on  the  evils  of  intemperance  with 
the  imposition  of  a  fine  of  twenty  dollars." 

"But  suppose  a  hard-headed  judge  should  be  on 
the  bench — a  fearless  man,  who  refuses  to  wink  at  vio 
lations  of  the  law  even  by  the  privileged  class  called 
saloon-keepers. " 

"Oh,  then  they  will  take  a  change  of  venue,  and 
get  the  case  before  one  of  their  friends,  if  possible." 

"Well, "said  James,  "I  begin  to  see  now  more 
clearly  why  the  saloon-keepers  are  against  you  and  in 
favor  of  Sawtheaire.  What  a  fool  father  has  been  in 
working  against  you  !  But  he 's  for  party  above  every 
thing — he  would  let  the  country  go  to  ruin  to  save  his 
party — and  he  has  been  led  to  believe  that  your  nomi 
nation  would  be  disastrous  to  the  party  this  Fall.  And 
now  to  get  back  to  business.  Would  mother's  name 
have  to  appear  in  the  last  class  of  cases  —  where  the 
law  provides  for  fine  and  imprisonment?" 

"  Certainly  not.  The  cases  would  run  in  the  name 
of  the  people." 


342  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"Then  I  '11  take  these  fellows  under  that  law." 

"I  believe  you  are  just  a  little  too  hasty,  James. 
To  make  out  a  case  under  that  law,  you  must  prove 
that  your  father  is  in  the  habit  of  getting  intoxicated. 
You  may  be  satisfied  that  such  is  the  case,  but  to  prove 
it  will  be  another  matter.  Your  father's  pride  will  be 
aroused,  and  he  will  certainly  swear  against  you.  Then 
when  your  witnesses  come  on  the  stand  they  will  dodge 
like  jugglers.  Men  who  will  tell  the  truth  everywhere 
else  will  lie  here.  A  fight  will  be  made  all  along  the 
line.  The  saloon-keepers  will  have  lawyers  skilled  in 
technicalities.  They  will  secure  juries  ready  to  seize 
upon  technicalities  to  decide  in  favor  of  '  personal  lib 
erty.'  Difficulties  will  arise  at  every  stage  of  the  pro 
ceeding.  Knowing  what  these  difficulties  are,  I  am 
going  to  insist  that  you  wait  a  few  days.  Don't  begin 
till  you  have  a  strong  case,  and  then  let  me  file  the 
complaints.  Your  father  will  make  home  very  uncom 
fortable  for  you  if  you  appear  as  the  complainant." 

"  No,  I  propose  to  file  the  complaints  myself.  You 
will  have  enough  to  do  if  you  try  the  cases.  I  'm  going 
to  notify  the  saloon-keepers  to-day  that  if  they  sell 
another  drop  to  father,  I'll  prosecute  them." 

"That  isn't  necessary;  but  it  will  strengthen  your 
cases.  Take  some  witnesses  with  you,  so  that  they 
can't  outswear  you  on  this  point," 

James  left  the  office,  a  shadow  of  disappointment 
resting  upon  his  face ;  for  he  had  determined  to  prose 
cute,  and  could  scarcely  brook  delay. 

Manning  followed  him  to  the  door. 

"I  neglected  to  ask  you  about  your  father,"  he 
said.  "  I  suppose  he  has  sobered  up  by  this  time,  and 
is  as  well  as  usual." 

"  He  is  well  enough — only  cross  and  disagreeable." 

"And  yourself?     You  're  well,  James?" 

"  Well,  yes.  Well  in  body,  but  not  very  well  in 
mind." 

"  And  your  mother?  I  suppose  she  is  as  well  as 
could  be  expected?" 


A    VICTORY    FOR    THE    SALOON    POWER.  343 

' '  She  bears  up  remarkably.  There  are  few  women 
equal  to  mother,  Mr.  Manning.  I  tell  you  she  is  a 
noble  woman,  if  ever  one  lived." 

"Of  course  she  is.  I  admire  her  very  much.  And 
how  are  the — the — the  rest  of  the  family,  James?" 
The  question  was  out,  and  Manning's  heart  was  in  his 
throat. 

James  turned  his  face  away,  lest  the  twinkle  in  his 
eyes  shouid  be  seen,  and  answered : 

' '  The  rest  of  the  family  ?  The  horses  are  in  their 
usual  health,  and  the  cats  and  dogs  were  never  better; 
and  as  for  sister  Katie,  she  is  able  to  sit  up,  and  will 
soon  be  herself  again,  I  hope.  If  you  doubt  my  tes 
timony,  come  and  see  for  yourself." 

Manning  closed  the  door  and  returned  to  his  desk, 
flagellating  himself  mentally  for  his  clumsiness  in  arriv 
ing  at  a  very  simple  matter,  while  James,  with  his  wit 
nesses,  proceeded  to  visit  the  saloons,  and  notify  the 
aproned  proprietors  of  his  intention  to  prosecute  them 
for  any  future  sales  to  his  father. 

Early  the  next  morning  delegates  to  the  county 
convention  began  to  arrive  at  the  county-seat,  and  the 
day  which  had  dawned  bright  and  beautiful  promised 
to  be  stormy  enough  politically  before  the  setting  of 
the  sun.  Caucuses  were  held  at  Manning's  and  Saw- 
theaire's  offices,  and  every  precaution  was  taken  by  the 
friends  of  each  of  the  candidates  to  secure  the  victory 
for  their  favorite. 

The  delegation  from  Holyterror  consisted  of  nine 
men  ;  and  strange  to  say,  four  of  them,  notwithstanding 
the  influence  of  the  saloons,  were  openly  in  favor  of 
Manning.  This  was  the  result  of  Deacon  Dontsmile's 
efforts  at  the  primary  in  that  township. 

A  few  of  Sawtheaire's  most  trusted  friends  met  at 
that  gentleman's  office  at  noon  for  serious  consultation. 
The  prospect  for  the  nomination  of  their  champion  was 
not  altogether  assuring. 

"  Vot  is  to  be  done  ?"  asked  Donnerblitzen,  of  Holy 
terror.  "  Manning  is  a  blame  crank.  If  he  is  nomi- 


344  A    SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

nated,  he  preak  up  de  saloons.     Ve  must  beat  him  mit 
sometings. " 

"Why  didn't  you  adopt  the  unit  rule  at  Holyter- 
ror?"  asked  Sawtheaire,  almost  angrily.  "Then  we 
would  be  all  right.  Give  me  the  whole  vote  of  your 
town,  and  I  'm  nominated.  I  counted  on  your  town 
ship.  I  thought  you  were  my  friends ;  and  now  you  're 
about  to  beat  me.  I  grow  hot  when  I  think  of  it." 

"  Ol'  man  Dontsmile  done  de  business,"  was  the 
answer.  "He  fights  mit  saloons,  all  de  time  vat  he 
keeps  his  own  little  saloon  in  his  cellar." 

' '  Dontsmile !  The  old  scoundrel !  He  pledged 
himself  to  support  me." 

' '  Yah  !      He  support  you  ofer  de  left. " 

"Well,  I  '11  flay'  the  old  hypocrite  one  of  these 
days.  I  '11  fix  him  !  Bear  that  in  mind.  But  why  in 
the  world  didn't  you  adopt  the  unit  rule?" 

"Vy,  you  see,  it  vas  adopted  all  right,  only  dey 
voted  it  down." 

"  See  here,  Sawtheaire,"  said  Holly,  speaking  for 
the  first  time,  "you  're  wasting  precious  minutes.  The 
convention  will  be  called  at  two.  We  've  only  an  hour 
and  a  half  for  work.  You  have  n't  got  the  time  to 
spare  now  for  damning  old  Dontsmile.  Look  after  that 
job  when  you  've  nothing  more  important  to  attend  to. 
Let  me  tell  you  now,  the  unit  rule  will  not  help  you 
to-day.  The  convention  '11  have  none  of  it.  Mark  my 
words.  These  fellows  who  want  to  be  clerk  and  sheriff 
will  have  something  to  say,  and  they  won't  let  you  cut 
their  throats  with  your  unit  rule.  If  that's  your  reli 
ance,  you 're  beat. " 

"Great  heavens,  man!"  exclaimed  Sawtheaire, 
"  that  is  my  reliance.  Under  that  rule  I  get  nineteen 
votes  from  Wellington  ;  without  it,  I  only  get  ten.  I  'm 
afraid  I  can  't  squeeze  through  even  with  the  whole 
nineteen.  To  make  me  safe,  I  need  all  the  votes  of 
Holy  terror  as  well." 

"  You '11  "not  get  them  under  the  unit  rule,  my 
friend,  and  you  had  as  well  give  up  all  thought  of  it. 


A   VICTORY    FOR   THE   SALOON    POWER.  345 

What  then  ?  You  're  defeated  ?  Not  necessarily.  Not 
if  your  friends  stand  by  you  and  do  their  duty.  And 
let  me  tell  you,  your  friends  must  stand  by  you.  It 's  a 
matter  of  thousands  of  dollars  perhaps  to  the  saloon 
keepers  of  this  county  to  beat  this  devil  of  a  Manning. 
Thousands  of  dollars,  I  say.  He  can  break  us  up,  ruin 
us,  under  this  infamous  law,  if  he  enforces  it.  We 
must  beat  Manning.  There  is  but  one  way  to  do  it, 
and  that  is  with  money.  Tap  your  barrels,  gentlemen, 
and  I  '11  fix  matters  beyond  all  question." 

"  I  have  n't  the  money,"  said  Sawtheaire.  "  I  have 
expended  time,  labor  and  all  my  earnings  in  this  con 
test,  and  can  't  do  anything  more.  I  'm  like  poor  old 
Joe  Jimson  at  last — I  'm  strapped.  Unless  my  friends 
come  to  the  rescue,  Manning  must  take  the  prize." 

Sawtheaire,  shrewd  at  all  times,  cold,  calculating 
and  self-possessed  under  all  circumstances,  knew  very 
well  when  he  uttered  these  words  with  an  air  and  tone 
of  despondency,  that  the  money  would  be  subscribed 
by  his  friends,  without  any  demands  upon  his  purse. 
He  might  abandon  the  field,  but  they  would  not.  None 
could  play  the  game  of  bluff  more  successfully  than  he. 
He  found,  as  he  had  expected,  that  his  words  served 
to  spur  on  his  friends,  and  save  his  own  purse. 

"  Do  n't  worry  about  the  funds,"  said  Holly.  "  Pro 
vided  you  are  sound — sound,  mark  you — on  the  liquor 
business,  we  '11  raise  the  money  and  carry  you  through. 
/  know  you  are  all  right.  But  some  of  my  friends 
do  n't  know  you  as  well  as  I  do ;  they  would  like  to 
hear  your  views  of  the  dram-shop  act." 

' '  I  have  no  hesitancy  to  speak  on  that  point,  gen 
tlemen,"  began  Sawtheaire,  "  provided  what  I  say  is 
to  be  a  sacred  secret  among  ourselves.  If  I  'm  nomi 
nated  I  want  to  be  elected.  If  it  should  be  known  that 
I  had  made  pledges  to  you  on  this  question,  I  would 
certainly  lose  some  votes  I  ought  to  have.  So  I  want 
what  I  say  to  be  treated  as  confidential.  I  am  opposed 
to  the  dram-shop  act.  I  believe  it  has  been  enacted  in 
the  interests  of  black-mailers,  and  will  be  used  to  ex- 


34-6  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

tort  money  unjustly  from  one  of  the  most  honorable 
and  influential  classes  of  our  citizens.  For  that  reason 
I  think  the  law  ought  not  to  be  enforced.  More  than 
this,  if  you  nominate  and  elect  me,  I  pledge  you  not  to 
prosecute  under  the  law,  unless  I  am  forced  to  do  so 
by  a  grand  jury  and  court." 

"Goot!"  exclaimed  Mayor  Trinkenviellager. 
"  Dat  is  goot !  But  vat  you  tink  mit  lipperty,  hey !  " 

"  I  think  liberty  is  the  grandest  word  in  the  English 
language,  and  am  irreconcilably  opposed  to  all  laws 
which  tend  to  abridge  our  personal  liberty." 

"Goot!  " cried  Trinkenviellager.  "  Now  den,  Hol 
ly,  how  much  moneys  you  vant  from  de  Mayor?" 

' '  Twenty-five  dollars. " 

"  I  make  it  double.  Ve  must  peat  Manning,  or  ve 
go  mit  de  debil. " 

It  was  the  work  of  a  few  minutes  only  to  secure 
all  necessary  funds.  At  a  few  minutes  before  one 
o'clock  Holly  issued  from  the  office  on  his  diabolical 
mission.  At  two  o'clock  the  convention  was  called  to 
order.  At  half-past  three  Sawtheaire  was  nominated. 
From  four  o'clock  until  the  dusk  of  evening  gathered 
around  him,  William  Manning  sat  at  his  desk,  study 
ing  the  dram-shop  act,  and  preparing  himself  for 
ceaseless  conflict  with  the  saloon  power.  During  the 
same  time  Sawtheaire  and  his  friends,  including  Henry 
Anderson,  celebrated  their  unlawful  victory  from 
saloon  to  saloon,  consuming  large  quantities  of  whisky 
and  beer. 

James  Anderson  carried  home  the  news  that  Saw 
theaire  had  been  nominated,  and  that  his  father  was 
visiting  the  saloons  and  drinking  recklessly.  Katie  re 
ceived  the  news  of  Manning's  defeat  with  ill-disguised 
disappointment,  hardly  in  keeping  with  her  determina 
tion  to  think  no  more  of  the  heartless  deceiver.  And 
Mrs.  Anderson  received  the  news  of  her  husband's 
renewed  dissipation  with  that  indescribable  anguish 
which  has  broken  many  a  wife's  heart,  and  sent  her 
down,  sorrowing,  to  an  untimely  grave. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE   STORY    OF    A    BROKEN    BOTTLE. 

The  morning  after  the  convention,  Henry  Anderson 
was  in  no  condition  to  appear  before  the  public  in 
Wellington.  His  dissipation  during  the  preceding  after 
noon  and  evening  had  rendered  him  wholly  unfit  for, 
and  disinclined  to,  polite  society.  Nor  was  his  presence 
at  home  at  all  agreeable  to  those  who  had  formerly  de 
lighted  in  his  companionship.  He  complained  of  over- 
exertion,  and  lay  on  a  couch  part  of  the  time,  and  part 
of  the  time  walked  about  the  premises  without  any 
special  object  in  view,  save  when  he  visited  the  barn  oc 
casionally  to  swallow  part  of  the  contents  of  a  black 
bottle  which  he  kept  secreted  there  in  the  hay-mow. 
He  was  now  engaged  in  that  delightful  and  soul-elevat 
ing  process  called  "tapering  off,"  and,  as  usual  where 
men  are  "tapering  off,"  that  end  of  the  "spree"  was 
the  larger.  That  is  to  say,  in  the  present  case  it  would 
have  been  so,  had  not  Mrs.  Anderson,  with  a  heroism 
little  to  be  expected,  after  having  suspected  the  reason 
for  these  visits  to  the  barn,  followed  her  husband  on 
one  of  these  excursions,  and  found  him  in  the  very  act 
of  putting  the  bottle  to  his  lips.  Hiding  herself  from 
observation,  she  waited  till  the  bottle  had  been  corked 
and  put  away  under  the  hay  tenderly  and  affectionately, 
and  her  husband,  possessed  now  of  an  additional  demon, 
had  taken  his  departure.  When  he  was  well  out  of 
sight  and  hearing,  Mrs.  Anderson  sought  the  bottle, 
and  having  found  it,  dashed  it  against  a  stone  back  of 
the  stable,  shivering  it  into  fragments  and  spilling  the 
fragrant  fluid  on  the  ground. 

Returning  to  the  house,  she  found  her  husband  more 
disagreeable  than  ever.  He  wanted  to  know  why  din 
ner  was  n't  ready,  and  emphasized  his  inquiry  with  an 
oath.  He  notified  Katie  that  she  had  been  sitting 

347 


34-8  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

around  the  house  in  idleness  long  enough,  and  that  he 
wanted  her  to  go  into  the  kitchen  and  help  her  mother 
with  the  dinner.  When  told  that  she  had  been  in  the 
kitchen  at  work  during  most  of  the  forenoon,  and  had 
sat  down  to  rest  for  a  few  minutes  only,  he  swore  that 
when  he  was  at  her  age  he  did  n't  know  what  it  was  to 
be  tired,  and  he  believed  she  was  n't  tired — that  lazi 
ness  was  the  proper  name  for  her  complaint.  Then  he 
asked  where  James  was,  and  proceeded  to  abuse  his 
wife  because  she  had  dispatched  James  to  buy  some 
necessary  groceries.  Finally,  with  the  restlessness  of 
the  drunkard  who  can  not  content  himself  while  an  un- 
emptied  bottle  is  at  his  command,  he  went  to  the  barn 
for  another  drink. 

He  sought  that  place  in  the  hay-mow  where  he  had 
parted  company  with  the  bottle  a  short  time  before, 
and  thrust  his  hand  into  the  hay,  but  without  effect. 
He  tried  again  and  again,  slightly  varying  at  each  effort 
the  point  of  attack.  After  many  fruitless  attempts,  he 
brought  a  pitchfork,  and  began  turning  the  hay  over  in 
small  quantities,  first  in  one  direction  and  then  in  the 
other.  He  threw  down  the  pitchfork.  A  new  idea  had 
entered  his  mind.  His  reddened  face  began  to  glow 
with  fiery  indignation.  He  was  sure  he  had  left  the  bot 
tle  at  that  place,  and  equally  sure  it  could  neither  walk 
nor  fly.  He  looked  about  the  barn  in  various  directions. 
But  the  only  vessel  of  the  kind  he  was  able  to  find  was 
an  old,  dirty,  greasy  one,  having  the'proper  shape,|but 
containing  oil  for  the  axles  of  his  buggy,  and  oil  was 
not  at  present  the  desideratum  for  which  he  was  so 
earnestly  seeking.  He  went  out  at  the  rear  of  the 
barn,  and  there  what  a  doleful  spectacle  was  presented 
to  his  gaze  !  What  an  exasperating  smell  was  arising 
from  the  stone  on  which  the  bottle  had  gone  to  pieces ! 

It  required  no  unusual  brilliancy  of  intellect 
to  find  the  cause  for  this  dreadful  effect.  He 
had  heard  Joe  Jimson  tell  of  a  similar  experience 
which  had  culminated  in  the  flogging  of  Mrs.  Jimson ! 
He  became  wild  with  excitement,  and  rushed  to  the 


THE    STORY    OF    A    BROKEN    BOTTLE.  34Q 

house  to  wreak  his  vengeance  on  his  wife.  Mrs.  Ander 
son  shrank  back  in  alarm  when  she  saw  the  workings  of 
passion  in  her  husband's  face,  and  the  infuriated  glare 
of  his  eyes.  He  began  with  a  torrent  of  abuse  such  as 
had  never  greeted  her  ears  before.  He  applied  to  her 
vile  and  indecent  epithets,  which  of  themselves,  and 
aside  from  any  demonstrations  of  violence,  would  have 
blanched  her  cheeks  with  fear  and  indignation.  Katie 
was  alarmed  to  a  greater  extent  even  than  her  mother, 
and  stood  there,  unable  at  first  to  move  or  cry  aloud, 
looking  every  moment  to  see  her  frenzied  father  lay 
violent  hands  on  her  trembling  mother.  At  last,  in 
agony  and  terror,  she  fled  from  the  room  to  call  in  some 
of  the  neighbors  to  their  assistance.  She  met  James  at 
the  gate,  and  quickly  informed  him  of  the  situation. 
With  a  few  bounds  he  reached  the  house,  only  to  find 
his  mother  lying  on  the  floor  at  her  husband's  feet. 

"Great  heavens!  you've  killed  her!"  he  cried 
hoarsely,  and  struck  his  father  a  blow  which  sent  him 
reeling  to  the  floor.  Then  he  stooped  over  his  mother 
and  with  Katie's  assistance  lifted  her  up  in  his  arms, 
and  carried  her  to  her  bed.  She  lay  on  her  bed  un 
conscious,  with  her  bruised  face  turned  upward  towards 
the  ceiling.  "  Run,  Katie,  run  !  Tell  some  one  to  get  the 
Doctor  !  "  Katie  found  a  messenger  without  difficulty. 
The  neighbors,  aroused  by  this  disturbance,  had  left 
the  dinner -table  and  were  hastening  to  proffer  their 
assistance.  The  messenger  dispatched,  Katie  returned 
to  the  house,  where  James  was  bathing  his  mother's 
face,  and  seeking  to  restore  her  to  consciousness. 

She  revived  soon  after  the  arrival  of  the  Doctor, 
who  proceeded  to  dress  her  wounds  and  administer 
such  restoratives  as  the  case  seemed  to  require. 

"Your  mother  needs  some  kind  of  a  stimulant," 
he  said  to  Katie.  "Is  there  any  brandy  or  whisky 
about  the  house  ?  " 

Mrs.  Anderson  raised  her  hand  with  an  impatient 
gesture,  expressive  of  dissent,  and  as  soon  as  she  could 
find  voice  to  speak,  said,  with  somewhat  of  difficulty : 


35O  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"Not  a  drop!  not  a  drop!  You  must  use  something 
else."  Liquor  had  wrought  such  ruin  in  her  home 
that  her  utter  abhorrence  of  it,  even  as  a  stimulant  in 
times  of  necessity,  was  not  to  be  wondei  e J  at. 

Henry  Anderson  lay  for  several  minutes  where  he 
had  fallen ;  and  then  recovering  from  the  effects  of  the 
blow,  and  stupidly  collecting  his  scattered  thoughts,  he 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  his  son  had  struck  him. 
He  undertook  to  arise ;  he  raised    himself  up  on  one 
hand,  but  when  he  endeavored  to  straighten  himself, 
he  lost  his  balance  and  fell  back  upon  the  floor.      He 
then  crawled  to  a  chair,  and  with  the  aid  of  the  chair 
succeeded  in  regaining  his  feet.      He  did  not  stop  to 
reason  about  the  justice  or  injustice  of  his  son's  act,  or 
the  provocation  which  had  led  him  to  deal  this  unfilial 
blow.      He  was  not  in  a  condition  to  reason  about  any 
thing;    he  was   blinded  with  passion,  and  smarting  for 
revenge.      He  had  been  struck  with  great  violence  by 
the  stripling  whom  he  called  son,  and  he  would  make 
the  offender  suffer  for  it ;  yes,  he  would  kill  him  as  he 
would    a   viper.      While   James    was    standing   by  his 
mother's  bed,  and  the  Doctor  was  bending  over  her, 
and  Katie  was  sitting   on  the  side  of  the  bed,  sharp 
and  clear  rang  out  the  report  of  a  pistol,  accompanied 
by  a  heavy,  lumbering  sound  as  of  some  one  falling. 
Katie  screamed  in   dire  consternation.     James  sprang 
from  the  bedside  to  his  father,  who  had  stumbled  and 
fallen  in  the  very  act  of  firing,  and  wrested  the  pistol 
from  his  unsteady  grasp.      The  bullet  had  buried  itself 
in  the  floor,  and  fortunately  no  one  had  been  injured. 
James  seized  his  father  and  forced  him  along  upstairs, 
and  locked  him   up  in  a  bed-room  there,  taking  away 
the  key — perhaps  not  the  wisest  thing  to  do,  but  the 
thing  nevertheless  he  did  do.     Anderson  tried  the  door, 
and  then  began  kicking  it  as  violently  as  he  could  in 
his  unsteadiness,  and  then,  having  failed   to   effect  an 
exit,  went  to  the  window  and  endeavored  to  raise  it, 
and  escape  in  that  way.      At  that  moment  the  door 
was   unlocked  and  opened  by  the   city  marshal,  who 


THE    STORY    OF    A    BROKEN    BOTTLE.  35! 

had  heard  of  the  disturbance,  and  had  come  to  assert 
tire  majesty  of  the  law,  and  who  now  led  the  intoxi 
cated  wretch  away,  notwithstanding  his  protestations 
and  entreaties,  to  the  undesirable  seclusion  of  the  cala 
boose. 

There  was  quiet  now  in  the  house ;  but  Mrs.  An 
derson  was  not  at  her  ease.  Her  husband  had  abused 
her,  had  struck  her  cruelly,  but  he  was  her  husband 
still,  the  father  of  her  children,  the  lover  of  the  best 
days  of  her  life,  with  whom  she  had  played  in  child 
hood,  and  to  whom  her  heart  had  turned  with  truest, 
purest  love  when  she  had  reached  the  estate  of  woman 
hood.  With  keenest  anguish  she  now  realized  that  he 
had  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  been  dragged  away 
from  his  home  as  a  felon  to  a  place  where  only  crimi 
nals  were  confined.  She  begged  James  to  go  and  see 
him,  to  stay  with  him  and  take  care  of  him,  to  procure 
his  release,  if  possible.  She  pleaded  every  imaginable 
excuse  in  his  behalf.  The  shot  was  accidental,  she 
said.  He  was  exasperated,  and  not  responsible  when 
he  struck  her.  She  invoked  the  curses  of  the  Almighty 
God  upon  the  men  who  had  sold  him  the  liquor,  which 
had  temporarily  dethroned  his  reason,  and  she  charged 
them  with  the  responsibility  for  the  deeds  that  had 
been  done.  And  again  she  pleaded  with  James  to  go 
to  the  calaboose  and  take  care  of  his  erring  father. 

"  No,  mother,  not  to-day,"  said  James.  "  Let  him 
stay  there  for  a  while.  Perhaps  the  shame  of  imprison 
ment  may  rouse  him  to  a  sense  of  the  ruinousness  of 
his  present  course.  I  'm  told  the  calaboose  is  a  capital 
place  for  reflection.  Let  him  stay  there  for  a  while — 
at  least  till  he  sobers  up." 

"O  James!  "  she  moaned,  "you  do  not  love  your 
father  as  you  should." 

"  I  confess  I  do  not  love  him  when  he  is  drunk." 

"He  needs  more  love  and  care  then  than  at  any 
other  time.  He  is  n't  responsible  then,  my  son.  We 
must  bear  with  him,  and  try  to  save  him  from  this 
terrible  temptation." 


352  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"  Mother,  I,  for  one,  have  lost  all  hope." 

"Go,  James,  for  my  sake,"  she  pleaded,  returning 
abruptly  to  the  subject  of  her  husband's  imprisonment. 
"Please  go,  and  bring  him  home.  Please  do  n't  let 
him  stay  in  jail  all  night." 

"I  think  he  ought  to  stay  there  till  he  gets  sober," 
interposed  Katie.  "If  he  was  brought  home  now  he 
would  make  more  trouble.  He  might  kill  some  of  us. 
What  he  has  tried  to  do  once,  he  is  likely  to  attempt 
again.  I  confess  I  'm  afraid  of  him  when  he  is  drink 
ing.  He 's  angry  at  brother,  and  there  's  no  telling 
what  he  might  do." 

Mrs  Anderson,  finding  her  entreaties  unavailing, 
and  feeling  that  there  was  some  ground  for  Katie's 
fears,  turned  her  face  towards  the  wall  to  hide  the  irre 
pressible  tears,  and  said  no  more  on  the  subject. 

During  the  afternoon  James  called  at  William  Man 
ning's  office  and  asked  for  a  private  conversation  with 
him.  He  related  the  events  which  have  just  been  re 
corded.  Then  he  said: 

"I  want  to  get  father  out  of  jail,  but  not  to-day. 
I  believe  I  '11  let  him  stay  there  and  reflect  on  the  past 
till  to-morrow.  He  may  get  out  before  that  time. 
Some  of  his  numerous  friends,  Sawtheaire  and  the 
saloon-keepers,  may  bail  him  out,  but  his  family  will 
make  no  move  to  set  him  free  till  he  has  had  a  fair 
chance  to  get  duly  sober." 

"I'm  afraid  you  will  have  more  serious  trouble 
with  your  father  after  he  does  get  out  than  you've  ever 
had  before.  He  will  hold  you  responsible  for  his  im 
prisonment.  Men  do  n't  reason  about  these  things — 
they  get  mad,  and  then  they  follow  passion  and  let 
reason  go  to  the  dogs.  I  expect  about  the  first  thing 
he  will  do  will  be  to  horsewhip  you." 

"Horsewhip  me!"  said  James,  contemptuously. 
"  I  'm  too  old  for  that,  Mr.  Manning.  He  may  drive 
me  from  home,  but  he  '11  do  me  no  violence,  unless  he 
takes  me  unawares.  But  I  believe  I  can  manage  him. 
I  have  the  power  to  send  him  to  the  penitentiary,  if  I 


THE    STORY    OF    A    BROKEN    BOTTLE.  353 

want  to,  and  I  know  he  would  rather  die  than  go  there. 
Father  is  a  high-spirited  man,  and  one  of  the  best  men 
in  the  world,  if  he  would  let  whisky  alone.  And  I  be 
lieve  I  have  a  powerful  persuader  now  to  induce  him  to 
live  a  sober  life — at  any  rate,  I  propose  to  thoroughly 
test  the  matter.  But  what  I  want  to  see  you  about  is 
the  matter  of  prosecuting  the  saloon  keepers.  I  should 
think  we  could  make  a  case  now,  if  that  can  be  done 
under  any  circumstances  whatever." 

"  Did  you  notify  them  not  to  sell  to  your  father?" 

"Yes,  I  gave  them  the  notice  yesterday,  in  the 
presence  of  good  witnesses.  Holly  became  very  in 
dignant,  gave  me  to  understand  that  he  would  attend 
to  his  own  business,  and  ordered  me  to  leave  the  sa 
loon,  a  command  which  I  was  ready  to  obey.  Bech- 
dold  looked  scared.  I  think  the  old  fellow  felt  that  he 
might  lose  a  few  shekels  in  the  operation,  and  so  he 
didn't  have  much  to  say.  The  others  laughed  mock 
ingly,  as  if  the  whole  affair  was  a  good  joke,  and  asked 
me  to  have  a  glass  of  beer,  a  courtesy  which  I  cer 
tainly  declined." 

"And  now  can  you  prove  that  these  men  sold  to 
your  father  after  you  gave  the  notice?" 

"I  think  I  can,  without  doubt.  I  made  particular 
inquiry  this  morning,  and  think  it  can  be  shown  that  he 
drank  at  all  the  saloons." 

"  By  whom  can  you  prove  these  facts?" 

"  Here  is  a  list  of  the  witnesses." 

"Then  I  would  advise  you  to  sue.  Let  your 
mother  sue  for  damages,  and  then  bring  the  criminal 
branch  of  the  case  before  the  grand  jury. " 

"  When  can  the  civil  suit  be  tried  ?" 

"Not  till  the  October  term  of  the  circuit  court. 
But  hold  on  ;  you  can  sue  before  a  justice  of  the  peace 
if  the  damages  do  not  exceed  two  hundred  dollars." 

"  In  that  event,  when  could  the  case  be  tried?" 

"  Within  a  few  days.  If  you  sue  to-day,  you  could 
have  the  case  set  for  next  week,  say  next  Wednesday 
or  Thursday." 


354  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY'. 

"Sue  before  a  justice  of  the  peace,  then.  I  want 
to  strike  now  while  the  iron  is  hot.  I  '11  make  these 
fellows  believe  there  is  a  law  in  this  country.  I  'm  not 
running  for  office,  and  never  expect  to,  so  I  'm  wholly 
independent  of  them.  Do  I  have  to  sign  any  papers  ? 
If  so,  get  them  ready,  and  I  '11  sign  before  I  go." 

"  No,  there  is  nothing  for  you  to  sign  ;  but  there 
is  work  to  be  done — work  for  me,  not  for  you.  We  '11 
have  a  hard  fight  on  our  hands,  and  I  '11  get  to  work 
on  the  case  immediately.  Let  me  see — shall  I  sue  be 
fore  Squire  Ingleside?" 

"  Yes,  unless  you  think  he  belongs  to  the  saloons." 

"He  doesn't  belong  to  the  saloons,  let  me  assure 
you.  He  has  his  faults  —  takes  a  dram  now  and  then, 
is  loaded  up  pretty  well  with  vanity,  but  is  honest, 
fearless  and  reliable  as  a  man  and  judge.  Our  trouble 
will  not  come  from  him,  but  from  the  witnesses  and 
jury.  You  can  trust  Ingleside  to  do  what  is  right." 

That  afternoon  a  summons  was  issued  by  Squire 
Ingleside  in  the  case  of  Mary  Anderson  against  Har 
vey  Holly  and  others,  and  served  on  all  of  the  defend 
ants  ;  whereupon  there  was  weeping  and  gnashing  of 
teeth  in  the  camp  of  the  unrighteous  Philistines. 

These  men  held  a  council  of  war,  and  decided  unan 
imously  on  their  first  move,  which  was  to  appeal  to 
the  "honor  "  of  Henry  Anderson  to  induce  him  to  use 
all  the  means  at  his  command  to  have  the  suit  dis 
missed.  A  committee  of  two,  consisting  of  Harvey 
Holly  and  August  Bechdold,  was  appointed  to  wait 
upon  Anderson  on  the  following  morning. 

They  found  him  in  the  calaboose.  He  was  duly 
sober ;  but  looking  and  evidently  feeling  like  a  man 
who  had  been  sick.  His  surroundings  were  by  no 
means  encouraging  to  a  man  of  refined  sensibilities, 
such  as  he  had  once  been  and  to  a  certain  extent  was 
even  yet,  and  his  recollection  of  the  events  of  the  day 
before  was  harassing  in  the  extreme.  Situated  as  he 
was,  he  was  ashamed  and  yet  glad  to  see  anyone,  even 
the  saloon-keepers,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  he  had 


THE    STORY    OF    A    BROKEN    BOTTLE.  355 

just  been  engaged  in  inwardly  cursing  them  for  having 
brought  this  trouble  and  disgrace  on  himself  and  fam 
ily.  He  did  not  for  an  instant  attach  any  blame  to 
himself.  He  was  a  sober  man,  he  was.  He  had  n't 
taken  "enough"  liquor  to  affect  him  in  the  slightest 
degree,  if  the  liquor  had  been  pure.  They  had  sold 
him  vile  stuff — that  was  what  was  the  matter.  He  had 
been  victimized,  and  was  feeling  very  unkindly  towards 
the  authors  of  his  misery.  But  when  Holly  and  Bech- 
dold  appeared  in  the  calaboose,  his  resentment  and 
bravado  disappeared,  and  he  assumed  a  servile  and 
cringing  air  in  their  presence. 

Holly  accosted  him  roughly  : 

' '  What  do  you  mean  by  going  back  on  your  best 
friends?" 

This  question  was  enigmatical  to  the  prisoner.  He 
had  not  the  slightest  recollection  of  having  done  such 
a  dastardly  act.  He  had  not  openly  sought  to  betray 
his  friends,  the  saloon-keepers,  and  he  had  manfully 
avenged  the  breaking  of  his  friend,  the  bottle.  He  was 
surprised. 

' '  Going  back  on  my  friends !  "  he  exclaimed.  ' '  How  ? 
What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"Oh,  you  needn't  undertake  to  play  the  innocent 
on  us,  old  boy.  Spare  yourself  the  pains.  It  won't 
wash.  We  're  too  long-headed  for  that.  You  '11  have 
to  work  your  surprise  game  on  infants." 

The  accusation  of  these  high-minded  gentlemen,  who 
hinted  at  some  base  act  of  ingratitude  of  which  the 
accused  was  wholly  ignorant,  cowed  the  spirit  of  the 
prisoner,  and  he  became  more  humble  and  apologetic 
than  before. 

"Why,  sure  as  I  stand  here,  gentlemen,  I  don't 
understand  you.  Really,  I  don't  know  what  you  mean. 
If  you  refer  to  my  little  family  difficulty — " 

' '  Family  difficulty  !  Nonsense !  "  interrupted  Holly. 
"  What  do  we  care  about  your  family  difficulty?  We 
are  here  to  find  out  the  meaning  of  this  law-suit 
against  us." 


356  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"Law-suit,  gentlemen,  law-suit!  I  know  nothing 
about  any  law-suit.  You  '11  have  to  explain  yourselves. 
You  talk  in  enigmas." 

Holly  turned  towards  Bechdold,  and  said  in  a  low 
tone,  as  if  he  did  not  desire  Anderson  to  hear,  but 
taking  special  pains  to  speak  loud  enough  so  that  he 
could  not  help  hearing:  "Plays  it  pretty  fine,  doesn't 
he?"  Then  turning  to  Anderson,  he  said: 

"Oh,  come  now,  Anderson,  don't  put  on  airs! 
You  know  your  wife  has  sued  us  as  well  as  we  do !  " 

' '  My  wife  !  "  gasped  Anderson.  ' '  My  wife  !  Sued 
you!"  Then  he  began  to  grow  indignant.  "How 
should  I  know  it?"  he  asked,  angrily.  "Haven't  I 
been  locked  up  here  since  noon  yesterday  ?  I  do  n't 
believe  she  has  done  anything  of  the  kind,  any 
way." 

"She  has,  all  the  same,  whether  you  believe  it  or 
not.  That 's  a  nice  way  for  your  family  to  serve  your 
friends,  after  all  we  've  done  for  you.  It's  blood  money 
you  are  after — that 's  what  it  is.  You  know  we  've  be 
friended  you.  Whenever  you  've  needed  anything  to 
drink,  we  Ve  let  you  have  it,  and  taken  our  chances  on 
the  law ;  and  now,  after  all  our  kindness,  your  wife  sues 
us  because  you  had  no  more  sense  than  to  get  drunk 
and  beat  her!  " 

"It  looks  like  you  vas  shust  tryin'  to  make  some 
moneys,  hey?"  interposed  Bechdold,  who  was  chafing 
at  the  thought  of  the  great  injustice  about  to  be  per 
petrated  under  the  cover  of  the  law. 

Anderson's  flash  of  anger  was  now  gone,  and  he 
looked  somewhat  abashed.  He  realized  that  he  was 
standing  before  those  nice  gentleman,  who  had  made 
him  drunk  as  an  act  of  disinterested  friendship,  under 
arraignment  for  what  appeared  to  him  as  a  man  of 
"honor"  the  basest  ingratitude.  Why,  sure  enough, 
when  he  had  needed  a  little  drop  form's  "stomach's 
sake,"  these  men  had  rallied  to  his  aid,  doubtless  be 
cause  they  loved  him,  and  had  actually  let  him  have 
whisky  which  had  cost  them  one  dollar  a  gallon  for  the 


THE    STORY    OF    A    BROKEN    BOTTLE.  357 

very  moderate  price  of  three  dollars  a  gallon.  What 
an  unselfish  act  of  favor  they  had  done  him,  and  that, 
too,  at  the  meager  profit  of  only  two  hundred  per  cent ! 
He  reproached  himself  for  every  ungenerous  thought 
of  these  large-hearted  gentlemen. 

He  hung  his  head.  He  twisted  himself  about  un 
easily.  How  could  any  man  whose  heart  was  not  yet 
completely  silicified  resist  the  appeals  of  such  generous 
friends?  He  was  ashamed,  he  said,  disgraced  forever 
by  the  commencement  of  such  a  suit.  He  hoped  his 
friends  would  believe  that  this  ungrateful  proceeding 
had  been  instituted  without  his  knowledge  and  consent. 
They  assured  him  that  they  could  never  fully  believe 
him  free  from  complicity  in  this  base  act  until  he  had 
shown  himself  to  be  master  in  his  own  house  by  pro 
curing  the  dismissal  of  the  suit.  He  swore,  in  reply, 
that  he  wore  the  male  attire  in  his  establishment,  and 
promised,  if  they  would  only  help  him  out  of  that  dis 
mal  place,  he  would  hasten  to  demonstrate  his  sin 
cerity  by  his  works. 

So  he  was  brought  before  a  magistrate  on  a  charge 
of  drunkenness  and  disorderly  conduct,  and  fined  five 
dollars  on  a  plea  of  guilty.  He  was  then  admitted  to  bail 
without  examination  (which  was  waived),  on  a  charge 
of  an  assault  with  intent  to  kill  and  murder.  He  stated 
that  he  did  not  want  the  act  of  giving  bail  to  be  taken 
as  evidence  of  guilt,  for  he  would  be  able  to  show  be 
yond  doubt,  at  the  proper  time,  that  his  pistol  was  acci 
dentally  discharged.  His  bail  was  fixed  at  five  hundred 
dollars.  Holly  and  Bechdold  volunteered  to  become 
his  sureties.  Lyman  Sawtheaire  had  appeared  during 
these  proceedings  as  his  attorney. 

With  a  revengeful  feeling  still  rankling  in  his  bosom, 
Anderson  went  home  immediately  after  his  release  from 
imprisonment. 

In  the  meantime  Mrs.  Anderson  had  been  tossing 
about  restlessly  on  her  bed,  disturbed  as  much  by  the 
unfortunate  and  distressing  status  of  her  domestic 
affairs,  as  by  the  pain  and  suffering  occasioned  by  her 


3$8  A   SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

bruises.  James  had  sat  by  her  side  during  the  greater 
part  of  the  night,  that  the  tedious  hours  might  be  be 
guiled  by  his  company,  and  that  the  remedies  prescribed 
by  the  physician  might  be  administered  at  the  proper 
time.  But  Mrs.  Anderson  had  not  slept  during  the 
night.  During  the  forenoon,  however,  under  the  in 
fluence  of  an  anodyne,  she  slept  uneasily.  After  his 
mother  had  fallen  asleep,  James  resigned  his  post  of 
vigilance  by  the  bed  to  Katie,  and  lay  down  upon  the 
couch  by  the  sitting-room  window.  Not  being  ac 
customed  to  sleeping  in  the  day-time,  he  found  it  im 
possible  to  do  more  than  to  doze  for  a  few  moments  at 
a  time.  Waking  suddenly  from  his  disturbed  slumber, 
he  looked  out  of  the  window  and  saw  his  father  ap 
proaching.  He  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant,  and  met 
his  father  near  the  front  gate. 

"  Where  are  you  going  now  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Anderson 
coolly,  by  way  of  opening  the  conversation. 

He  felt  truly  ashamed  of  himself  as  he  thought  of 
his  drunkenness  and  cruelty  on  the  day  before,  and  the 
humiliation  of  imprisonment  he  had  suffered.  Besides, 
while  he  knew  that  he  had  fired  his  pistol  in  the  house, 
he  was  not  advised  as  to  the  particulars,  of  which  his 
family  and  the  Doctor  alone  were  cognizant,  and  he 
was  yet  in  the  dark  as  to  what  they  would  say  about 
the  transaction.  It  might  prove  a  serious  and  trouble 
some  affair.  He  was  now  under  bail  on  a  felonious 
charge,  the  punishment  for  which,  as  he  had  learned 
from  his  attorne)',  was  imprisonment  in  the  peniten 
tiary  for  not  less  than  one  nor  more  than  fourteen 
years.  His  acquittal  or  conviction  would  depend 
largely  upon  the  attitude  of .  his  family  towards  him,' 
and  their  testimony  before  the  grand  jury  and  on  the 
trial.  He  was  therefore  in  a  mood  which  might  be 
termed  reasonably  conciliatory,  and  was  ready,  for  the 
present,  to  stifle  his  resentment  towards  the  members 
of  his  family  for  the  purpose  of  softening  the  sharp 
edges  of  their  testimony  against  himself,  as  well  as  for 
the  further  end  of  procuring  the  dismissal  of  the  suit 


THE    STORY    OF    A    BROKEN    BOTTLE.  359 

now  pending  against  the  saloon-keepers,  and  thereby 
maintaining  his  reputation  as  a  man  of  "honor" 
among  his  companions. 

"To  meet  you,"  answered  James.  "Mother  had 
a  hard  night  of  it.  She  didn't  get  a  moment's  rest 
during  the  whole  night,  but  she  is  now  sleeping  uneas 
ily.  I  came  to  tell  you,  so  that  you  wouldn't  arouse 
her  by  any  unnecessary  noise." 

"So  Young  America  has  become  my  guardian,  has 
he?  Well,  I  '11  see  about  that  when  the  time  comes," 
thought  Henry  Anderson.  His  impulse  was  to  take 
his  son  by  the  coat  collar  and  kick  him  from  one  end 
of  the  yard  to  the  other.  But  policy  forbade.  He  had 
determined  to  be  mild  and  conciliatory,  if  possible.  In 
fact,  his  attorney  had  advised  him  not  to  resort  to 
violence  unless  all  other  means  failed  to  accomplish 
his  ends. 

"James,  I  was  beside  myself  yesterday,"  he  said. 
"I  wasn't  well,  and  lost  my  temper.  If  I  had  been 
well  this  trouble  would  not  have  happened — you  know 
it  would  n't.  You  know  that  I  haven't  been  in  the 
habit  of  beating  any  of  the  members  of  my  family, 
much  less  my  wife.  The  fact  is  that  I  do  n't  now  have 
any  clear  recollection  of  what  I  did.  They  have  put 
me  under  bond  for  assault  with  intent  to  commit  mur 
der.  I  do  n't  understand  it.  I  certainly  have  no  rec 
ollection  of  trying  to  kill  any  one." 

"  I  can  't  say  what  you  recollect  or  do  n't  recollect, 
father ;  but  I  do  know  that  you  fired  off  your  pistol  in 
the  direction  where  mother  was  lying  and  the  Doctor 
and  I  were  standing.  I  do  n't  know  whom  you  were 
aiming  at  —  it  must  have  been  one  of  us,  or  it  might 
have  been  Katie,  for  she  was  sitting  on  the  bed  near 
mother.  But  I  suppose  you  were  aiming  at  me,  though 
I  don't  know  it.  If  you  hadn't  stumbled,  you  might 
have  had  the  crime  of  murder  to  answer  for." 

"James,  I  have  no  recollection  of  the  matter. 
There  was  surely  no  murder  in  rny  heart.  Why  should 
I  want  to  kill  any  member  of  my  family,  or  the  unof- 


360  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

fending  Doctor  ?  The  idea  is  ridiculous.  Nobody  who 
knows  me  will  believe  I  intended  to  kill  any  one.  If  I 
did  fire  the  pistol,  it  was  an  accident — I  didn't  know 
what  I  was  doing." 

"It  was  a  singular  accident,  father.  When  I  struck 
you,  there  was  no  pistol  in  your  hand.  You  took  it 
out  of  your  pocket  afterwards.  What  did  you  do  that 
for  ?  Men  do  n't  act  without  some  reason  for  what 
they  do.  What  did  you  want  a  deadly  weapon  in  your 
hand  for,  unless  you  wanted  to  use  it — to  hurt  some 
one,  or  possibly  to  kill  some  one?  The- case  looks  bad, 
I  'm  sorry  to  say." 

"  I  was  crazy  and  dazed  by  your  blow,  James.  I 
acted  mechanically.  I  had  no  idea  of  what  I  was  do 
ing.  Surely  the  law  does  n't  hold  a  man  responsible 
under  such  circumstances.  And  then,  besides,  I  must 
confess  that  I  was  drunk.  I  'm  ashamed  to  admit  it, 
but  it 's  the  fact.  A  man  can  't  be  held  responsible 
when  he  is  so  drunk  that  he  does  n't  realize  what  he  is 
doing." 

"I'm  no  lawyer,  father;  but  I  remember  hearing 
you  say,  when  Joe  Masterson  was  on  trial  for  murder, 
that  drunkenness  was  no  excuse  for  crime.  Either 
you  were  wrong  then,  or  you  are  wrong  now.  I  'm 
sure  that  ought  to  be  the  law,  whether  it  is  or  not. 
When  a  man  deliberately  gets  drunk,  he  knows  he  is 
liable  to  commit  some  terrible  deed,  and  he  ought  to 
be  held  responsible  for  what  he  does  under  such  cir 
cumstances.  He  has  no  business  to  get  drunk." 

"Suppose  you  are  right  about  the  law,  James,  has 
it  come  to  this,  that  my  own  family  are  against  me, 
and  are  going  to  try  to  send  me  to  the  penitentiary  ?  I 
tell  you  that 's  pretty  hard,  where  a  man  has  slaved  for 
his  family  as  I  have — it's  pretty  hard  !  " 

"  We  will  have  to  swear  the  truth,  father." 

"Yes,  but  much  depends  on  the  way  you  swear; 
I  mean  the  manner  in  which  you  tell  the  truth.  You 
can  tell  the  truth,  and  yet  color  it  one  way  or  the 
other,  either  for  or  against  me,  as  you  may  wish." 


THE   STORY    OF   A    BROKEN    BOTTLE.  361 

"I,  for  one,  will  never  color  my  testimony  inten 
tionally,  and  I  don't  believe  Katie  will,  either." 

"But  if  my  own  folks  do  not  press  the  case  —  if 
they  ask  the  State's  attorney  to  drop  it,  or  at  the  worst 
to  let  me  off  for  some  minor  offense,  I  think  all  will  be 
well.  I  don't  think  my  neighbors  or  the  people  will 
urge  the  prosecution,  if  my  own  family  take  my  part ; 
but  when  a  man's  own  household  turns  against  him,  he 
can  't  tell  what  to  expect. " 

"Well,  now,  father,"  said  James,  thinking  he  had 
pressed  his  advantage  as  far  as  the  circumstances  would 
warrant,  or  a  high-strung  man  like  his  father  would 
bear  even  under  necessity,  "  I  '11  be  plain  with  you — I 
think  you  are  right.  Whether  you  go  to  the  peniten 
tiary  or  not  will  depend  very  much  on  the  attitude  of 
your  family.  You  know  mother's  disposition — she  is 
loving  and  forgiving.  The  fact  that  you  were  in  jail 
gave  her  more  pain  last  night  than  her  wounds.  She 
begged  me  to  go  and  get  you  out  of  jail,  or,  if  I 
couldn't  do  that,  to  stay  with  you.  I'm  at  fault  for 
your  being  in  jail  over  night.  I  wanted  you  to  get 
sober.  I  was  afraid  you  might  kill  or  maim  some  one, 
and  that 's  the  reason  I  let  you  stay  there.  But  mother 
did  n't  think  of  danger.  She  pleaded  for  you  and  for 
gave  you  in  the  very  first  moments  of  returning  con- . 
sciousness.  Katie  has  forgiven  you  for  every  wrong. 
But  I  expect  I  have  some  of  your  own  disposition,  and 
as  far  as  I  am  concerned  there  is  just  one  way  in  which 
you  can  escape  punishment.  I  've  got  the  advantage 
of  you,  and  you  know  it,  and  I  propose  to  use  my  ad 
vantage.  Perhaps  a  boy  oughtn't  to  talk  to  his  father 
in  this  way.  I  don't  know  about  that,  and  won't  argue 
the  question.  But  I  '11  say  this — if  you  '11  come  back 
home,  and  be  kind  and  loving  to  mother  and  Katie, 
and  let  liquor  alone  and  quit  going  to  saloons,  I  '11 
agree  to  help  you  out  of  this  scrape.  I  know  I  can 
save  you  from  the  penitentiary ;  you  know  I  do  n't 
want  you  to  go  there.  If  you  continue  to  do  as  you 
have  been  doing,  mother  will  be  better  off  without  you 


362  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY^. 

than  with  you,  and  I  '11  go  before  the  grand  jury  and 
into  court,  and  tell  the  naked  facts.  You  have  power 
to  drive  me  away  from  home,  to  disown  me,  to  disin 
herit  me ;  but  that 's  the  course  I  propose  to  take,  re 
gardless  of  consequences  to  myself.  Now  you  can 
take  your  choice.  I  think  I  have  you  in  my  power, 
and  I  'm  going  to  use  that  power  to  save  you  and  your 
family,  if  I  can." 

Henry  Anderson  knew  that  his  son  had  spoken  the 
truth.  He  knew  that  this  twenty-year-old  boy  could 
save  or  convict  him  by  his  attitude  towards  the  prose 
cution.  He  was  already  really  repentant  for  the  great 
wrong  he  had  done,  for  the  cowardly  act  of  striking 
his  defenseless  wife  with  a  cane,  though  his  exterior 
was  yet  icy  and  stubborn.  And  yet  it  seemed  almost 
unendurable  to  be  forced  to  submit  to  such  plain  speech 
from  the  son  whom  he  had  been  accustomed  to  com 
mand.  He  was  satisfied  now  that  the  day  when  that 
son  would  submit  to  injustice  was  past.  It  was  mani 
fest  that  James  was  henceforth  to  be  his  own  master, 
and  to  hold  himself  ready  at  any  moment  to  strike  in 
defense  of  his  mother  and  sister.  So  the  father  yielded 
to  the  necessity  of  the  situation,  and  solemnly  made 
the  pledge  that  was  required  of  him. 
,-  "  Now  will  be  a  good  time, "  he  thought,  "to  re 
deem  my  pledge  to  Holly  and  Bechdold.  I  must  stop 
this  law-suit  by  fair  means  or  foul,  for  if  it  should  go  on 
I  would  never  have  the  courage  to  meet  my  friends 
again.  They  would  look  on  me  as  a  sneaking  traitor, 
and  I  would  never  succeed  in  making  them  believe 
anything  else.  So  I  '11  make  the  dismissal  of  this  suit 
one  of  the  conditions  of  making  this  pledge.  Like  a 
fool,  I  've  made  the  pledge  too  soon.  But  I  '11  see 
what  I  can  do  yet.  I  know  Mary  had  nothing  to  do 
with  bringing  this  law-suit.  James  is  the  fellow  who  is 
running  it — he  and  Manning  together.  How  I  hate 
that  fellow  Manning !  The  spiteful  wretch  is  mad  be 
cause  Sawtheaire  was  nominated,  and  now  he  is  out 
after  the  scalps  of  Sawtheaire's  friends." 


THE    STORY    OF    A    BROKEN    BOTTLE.  363 

Then  he  said  aloud  : 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  law-suit  against  the 
saloon-keepers? '' 

"  It  means  that  some  of  these  honorable  gentlemen 
are  in  a  fair  way  to  be  punished  for  some  of  their  sins. " 

"Such  a  suit  will  disgrace  me,  James.  Have  some 
regard  for  the  honor  of  the  family,  won't  you?  " 

"  Father,  have  you  had  any  regard  lately  for  the 
honor  of  the  family  ?  We  're  disgraced  already — the 
talk  of  the  town — and  a  few  law-suits  will  do  us  no 
harm." 

"  If  I  quit  drinking — and  I  've  promised  to  do  that 
— what  more  do  you  want?" 

"  I  want  to  punish  Holly  and  the  rest  of  them." 

"  Now,  James,  be  reasonable.  You  will  only  make 
them  our  enemies,  all  to  no  purpose.  The  damages, 
even  if  you  succeed,  will  be  small.  Wo  don't  need 
the  money.  Public  feeling  will  be  turned  against  us  ; 
people  will  say  we  are  trying  to  make  money  out  of 
our  misfortunes.  Besides,  think  of  the  disgrace  of 
bringing  all  the  details  of  our  family  difficulties  to  the 
knowledge  of  the  town  gossips." 

"I  do  n't  care  anything  for  that,  father.  Haven't 
I  said  we  're  disgraced  already  ?  The  gossips  have 
made  mincemeat  of  the  family  affairs  long  ago.  I  want 
revenge  —  on  somebody.  The  saloon-keepers  are  re 
sponsible,  and  I  want  their  scalps.  I  do  n't  propose  to 
yield  a  single  inch." 

"  I  suppose  your  mother  doesn't  even  know  this 
suit  is  pending  ?  " 

"To  be  honest  about  it,  she  does  n't;  and  what  is 
more,  I  do  n't  intend  she  shall  know  till  the  trial  is 
over.  And,  father,  you  must  n't  tell  her ;  if  you  do, 
our  treaty  is  at  an  end.  I  want  you  to  understand  what 
I  say.  I  propose  to  undeceive  you.  You  think  your 
good  name  is  yet  untarnished ;  that  a  man  can  live  as 
you  are  living  and  have  the  respect  of  his  neighbors. 
You  are  mistaken.  The  neighbors  are  up  in  arms  over 
your  treatment  of  mother,  and  say  that  if  another 


364  A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

scene  like  that  of  yesterday  shall  occur,  they  will  take 
you  to  the  woods  and  flog  you  within  an  inch  of  your 
life.  I  do  n't  say  this  to  scare  you  ;  I  say  it  to  let  you 
knew  what  the  feeling  in  the  neighborhood  is  on  this 
subject." 

Anderson's  face  turned  red  with  shame  and  anger. 
He  had  borne  up  with  much  assurance  so  far,  but  the 
last  words  seemed  to  unnerve  him  and  break  him  down. 
He  saw  a  new  picture  of  himself.  He  had  heard  of 
the  flogging  of  drunken  wife-beaters  by  indignant  citi 
zens — had  read  of  such  transactions  in  the  papers,  and 
had  always  sanctioned  the  deed  with  a  hearty  "  Amen  ! 
Served  him  right."  And  had  he  himself  fallen  under 
the  same  condemnation  ?  Was  he  regarded  as  a  drunk 
en  wife-beater  by  his  neighbors  and  acquaintances? 
Ah !  his  eyes  were  beginning  to  be  opened  ;  and  while 
he  had  not  as  yet  any  very  clear  vision,  he  was  never 
theless  beginning  to  see  men,  as  trees,  walking.  He 
renewed  his  pleading  for  the  dismissal  of  the  law-suit. 
His  son  was  inexorable.  Then  he  begged  that  he 
might  not  be  called  as  a  witness,  but  be  suffered  to  re 
main  at  home  or  to  leave  Wellington  till  after  the  trial. 
This  request  was  granted. 

"Wait  here  a  few  minutes,"  said  James,  "till  I 
break  the  good  news  to  mother  and  Katie." 

For  a  few  minutes  the  erring  man  was  left  in  sol 
emn  and  earnest  deliberation  with  himself.  The  words 
of  his  son  as  to  the  talk  among  the  neighbors  had  cut 
him  to  the  heart  as  nothing  else  had  done.  On  the 
farm,  before  that  fatal  day  when  he  had  surrendered 
peace  and  happiness  for  unrest  and  misery,  he  had 
lived  the  life  of  an  upright,  honest,  law-abiding  citizen. 
He  had  walked  erect  among  his  fellow -men,  with  a 
consciousness  that  he  was  highly  esteemed  by  them. 
On  moving  to  Wellington,  he  had  intended  and  ex 
pected  to  assume  a  station  in  the  city  equal  to  that  he 
had  enjoyed  in  the  country.  Notwithstanding  his  oc 
casional  intoxication,  soothed  with  the  flattery  of  Saw- 
theaire,  Jimson  and  the  saloon-keepers,  he  had  been 


THE    STORY    OF    A    BROKEN    BOTTLE.  365 

like  an  ostrich  which,  "hard  hunted,  sticks  his  fool 
ish  head  in  the  ground,  and  would  fain  forget  that 
his  foolish,  unseeing  body  is  not  unseen  too."  He 
had  taken  a  part  for  the  whole.  He  had  supposed 
that  his  friends  and  boon  companions,  Jimson  etal., 
had  reflected  in  their  flattering  words  the  sentiment 
of  the  entire,  community.  He  had  never  paused 
to  consider  that  these  could  in  no  manner  repre 
sent  the  views  of  the  respectable  and  intelligent  mem 
bers  of  society.  He  had  not  even  been  shrewd  enough 
to  suspect  that  their  flattery  might  be  prompted 
by  base,  sordid  motives — so  ready  is  a  man  to  accept 
as  genuine  any  flattering  speech  concerning  himself. 
And  so,  under  such  influences,  he  had  gone  rapidly 
along  that  broad  way  which  leads  to  death  indeed,  and 
had  imagined  all  the  time  that  his  sins  were  hidden 
from  the  eyes  of  the  world,  and  that  he  himself  was 
still  looked  upon  with  esteem  and  admiration  by  all  his 
neighbors. 

"  How  are  the  mighty  fallen  !  "  Henry  Anderson 
a  drunkard !  Harsh  and  ungenerous  word !  Henry 
Anderson  a  wife-beater !  What  a  horrible  expression  ! 
Why,  he  had  vowed  once  to  love  and  cherish  Mary 
Edgerton,  when  she  had  stood  with  him  at  the  altar 
in  all  her  blushing,  girlish  beauty,  crowned  with  orange 
blossoms,  and  glorified  in  his  eyes  with  the  sweet  trans 
figuration  of  love.  If  a  man  had  told  him  then  that 
he  would  ever  strike  her  down  with  a  cane,  he  would 
have  smitten  that  man  as  a  lying  prophet.  And  what 
had  brought  him  to  this  disgraceful  hour?  What  had 
caused  his  neighbors  to  rise  up  and  threaten  him  ? 
Why  were  they  planning  to  drag  him  from  his  home 
and  flog  him  like  a.  dog  ?  He  had  made  a  beast  of 
himself,  he  had  degenerated  into  a  common  drunkard, 
that  was  the  answer.  For  all  this  disgrace,  for  the 
pains  and  heart-achings  of  his  wife,  for  the  ruin  -of  his 
family,  rum  was  responsible.  It  had  been  his  master 
for  these  many  months,  the  master  of  him  who  had 
boasted  once  that  he  had  no  master  but  God  and  love, 


366  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

What !  had  his  will-power  been  wholly  destroyed  ? 
Was  he  no  longer  master  of  his  own  appetites  and  pas 
sions  ?  Could  he  not  begin  again,  and  rebuild  the 
castle  of  a  good  character,  now  lying  in  ruins  all  around 
him  ?  He  would  see.  Yes,  he  would  try. 

His  thoughts  were  arrested  by  the  voice  of  James, 
calling  him  from  the  porch.  In  shame  and  penitence 
he  crossed  the  threshold.  Bursting  into  tears,  he 
knelt  by  the  side  of  his  wronged,  but  patient  and  for 
giving  wife.  She  was  not  as  young,  the  tints  on  her 
cheeks  were  not  as  delicate,  her  hands  were  not  as  soft 
and  fair  as  on  that  day  when  she  had  leaned  fondly  on 
his  arm  at  the  altar;  but  she  was  lovelier  after  all,  for 
the  full  development  of  that  charity  which  "  suffereth 
long  and  is  kind  "  was  now  seen  in  every  feature. 

It  was  an  hour  of  confession  and  forgiveness,  of 
resolution  and  prayer. 

If  this  family  must  suffer  again,  let  us  hope  at  least 
that  the  next  stroke  may  be  from  without,  and  not 
from  within. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

JUSTICE   TRIUMPHANT. 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  a  messenger  ar 
rived  at  Mr.  Anderson's  house,  with  a  note  addressed  to 
him,  which  he  read  with  manifest  displeasure.  It  was 
signed  by  Harvey  Holly  and  August  Bechdold,  as  a 
committee  on  behalf  of  themselves  and  their  associates 
in  business,  and  demanded  in  peremptory  terms  the 
immediate  dismissal  of  the  suit  against  them.  At  first 
Mr.  Anderson  thought  he  would  give  an  answer  in  per 
son  ;  but  he  abandoned  this  idea  as  he  reflected  on  the 
probable  consequences  of  such  a  course.  In  order  to 
see  them  personally,  he  must  visit  their  saloons,  and 
subject  himself  to  temptation.  It  was  more  than  likely 
that  he  would  find  there  some  of  his  old  comrades  of 
the  glass,  and  the  temptation  to  treat  and  be  treated 
would  be  strong,  perhaps  irresistible.  The  smell  of 
whisky  was  a  temptation  to  him,  and  his  only  present 
safety  was  to  be  found  where  he  could  neither  see  nor 
smell  it.  So  he  wrote  an  answer,  and  sent  it  by  the 
messenger,  stating  that  he  had  done  what  he  could  to 
keep  his  promise  to  his  kind  friends,  but  had  found 
himself  unable  to  control  the  suit,  which  seemed  to  be 
under  the  management  of  his  son  and  William  Man 
ning  ;  and  that,  as  much  as  he  regretted  the  fact,  from 
present  appearances,  the  suit  would  be  pressed  vigor 
ously  to  a  judgment.  He  assured  them,  however, 
that  he  would  not  appear  as  a  witness  against  them  on 
the  trial  of  the  case,  as  his  request  to  be  excused  from 
testifying  had  been  granted. 

Affairs  now  began  to  look  ominous  from  the  stand 
point  of  the  saloon-keepers.  Evidently  the  suit  must 
go  on,  and  they  must  prepare  for  a  long  and  hard  fight. 
All  dilatory  measures  having  failed,  a  council  of  war 
was  thereupon  called,  and  the  four  saloon-keepers  met 


368  A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

together  in  a  room  in  the  rear  of  Holly's  saloon.  The 
committee  reported  that  their  efforts  to  get  rid  of  the 
suits  had  proved  an  utter  failure. 

"We  must  run  off  the  witnesses  who  know  we  made 
the  sales,"  said  Holly. 

"How  is  dat?"  asked  Bechdold. 

"Why,  man,  we  must  hire  the  witnesses  to  leave, 
except  those  we  can  trust  to  dodge  the  truth.  There  's 
old  Jimson — let  him  alone.  All  we  Ve  got  to  do  to  fix 
him  is  to  treat  him  a  few  times,  and  tell  him  what  we 
want  him  to  swear  to.  We  'd  better  get  Sawtheaire  to 
leave  town ;  he 's  not  too  good  to  shy  around  the  truth, 
and  yet,  if  pressed,  he  might  be  afraid  to  swear  a  down 
right  lie.  Yes,  he  '11  have  to  go.  Buy  up  all  we  can  ; 
and  if  any  man  has  a  tender  conscience,  hire  him  to 
skip,  or  to  refuse  to  answer.  The  fine,  Sawtheaire  says, 
will  not  be  over  five  dollars  a  witness,  and  we  'd  better 
pay  a  few  such  fines  than  be  beat  in  this  suit." 

"  But  it  costs  us  some  moneys,  hey?  "  asked  Bech 
dold. 

"Of  course  it  will,  you  old  miser.  You  can't  run 
a  lawsuit  without  money." 

"Yah  ! "  said  Bechdold,  pufHng  away  vigorously  at 
his  meerschaum,  "but  vich  is  de  sheapest,  hey  —  to 
fight  or  to  bay  oop  ?  " 

"It's  the  cheapest  in  the  long  run  to  fight." 

"I  don't  understand  dat." 

"Why,  if  we  fight  the  suit  and  beat  it,  no  one  else 
will  be  likely  to  sue  us.  But  if  we  pay  up  or  get  beat, 
they  will  jump  us  on  every  hand,  and  may  break  us  up. 
Even  old  Mother  Jimson  will  be  after  us.  We  must 
keep  a  stiff  upper  lip." 

"  How  de  vorld  you  keep  de  lip  stiff,  hey,  ven  you 
bay  out  some  moneys  like  dirt?" 

But  Bechdold  was  finally  forced  into  line,  and  this 
deliberative  body  adjourned  to  carry  into  execution 
their  wicked  conspiracy. 

When  the  day  for  the  trial  arrived,  so  great  a  throng 
began  to  fill  the  Squire's  office  that  he  found  it  neces- 


JUSTICE   TRIUMPHANT.  369 

sary  to  transfer  the  scene  of  this  forensic  display  to  a 
larger  room.  Accordingly  the  constable  was  sent  to 
procure  the  key  to  the  court-room  from  the  sheriff,  and 
the  announcement  was  made  that  the  trial  of  the  case 
would  take  place  at  the  court-house.  The  rabble  pro 
ceeded  to  the  court-house  in  great  glee. 

This  was  to  be  a  day  of  days  for  the  loafer.  The 
contest  would  probably  be  a  heated  one,  and  many 
scurrilous  jests  from  the  lawyers,  as  well  as  much  cutting 
abuse  of  one  another,  and  one  or  two  acts  of  tragedy 
perhaps,  would  furnish  such  entertainment  as  had  not 
been  enjoyed  since  the  last  circus  or  horse  race.  It  was 
noticeable  that  the  crowd  was  largely  composed  of  the 
friends  and  sympathizers  of  the  defendants,  together 
with  chronic  idlers  and  jury  experts,  the  latter  class 
expecting  to  be  present  during  the  trial  at  any  rate, 
and  thinking  it  a  good  thing  to  get  on  the  jury  if 
possible,  and  earn  an  honest  penny  while  being  enter 
tained. 

Squire  Ingleside  took  the  judge's  chair  with  great 
dignity,  while  the  constable  shouted  out  that  court  was 
now  in  session,  and  ordered  all  the  spectators  to  "take 
seats  and  sit  down."  Upon  one  side  of  the  trial-table  sat 
William  Manning  and  James  Anderson.  Upon  the  other 
side  sat  the  three  attorneys  for  the  defendants,  Messrs. 
Squabble,  Wriggle  and  Dabble,  and  back  of  them  sat 
the  four  defendants,  wearing  cheerful  countenances,  as 
if  they  were  already  assured  of  an  easy  victory. 

The  Squire  asked  counsel  if  they  were  ready  to 
proceed.  Mr.  Manning  said  he  would  like  to  call  his 
witnesses,  and  ascertain  whether  or  not  they  were  pres 
ent.  This  privilege  being  accorded  him,  he  called  the 
names  as  follows : 

"Lyman  Sawtheaire,  Joe  Jimson,  Dick  Gaudy, 
Green  Simmons,  Mayor  Trinkenviellager,  Ollie  Ful 
ler,  Jocky  Wilson,  Simon  Merry,  and  James  Ander 
son." 

Joe  Jimson,  Simon  Merry,  and  James  Anderson 
answered  to  their  names. 


37O  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"Have  all  these  witnesses  been  subpoenaed?" 
asked  the  Squire. 

"They  have,  your  honor;  here  are  the  subpoenas 
and  the  returns." 

"Call  them  at  the  window,  Mr.  Constable,"  com 
manded  the  Squire. 

Thereupon  the  constable  thrust  his  head  out  of  the 
window,  and  in  a  shrill,  piping  voice  pronounced  three 
times  the  name  of  every  absent  witness,  while  the 
crowd  listened  intently  to  this  awe-inspiring  part  of  the 
procedure.  The  voice  of  the  constable  failed  to  evoke 
either  substance  or  shadow  of  the  departed. 

Mr.  Squabble  arose  and  announced  in  boisterous 
tones  that  he  had  heard  on  the  streets  that  Mr.  Saw- 
theaire  and  the  Mayor  had  been  called  into  the  country 
on  imperative  business,  and  might  not  be  able  to  return 
for  two  or  three  days  ;  that  gentlemen  of  their  standing 
would  certainly  obey  the  process  of  the  court  when 
obedience  was  a  possibility ;  that  no  court  of  respect 
ability,  knowing  the  position  of  these  gentlemen  in 
society,  would  think  for  an  instant  of  issuing  attach 
ments  for  them  ;  that  their  presence  was  not  necessary 
to  the  trial  of  the  case ;  that  they  had  assured  the 
speaker  they  knew  absolutely  nothing  which  would  be 
of  benefit  to  'either  side,  and  supposed  they  had  been 
subpoenaed  from  malicious  motives,  and  not  because  they 
were  really  wanted  as  witnesses.  Here  the  speaker  ceased, 
and  rolled  his  eyes  suspiciously  towards  Mr.  Manning. 

Thereupon  Mr.  Manning  said  that  the  gentleman 
was  sadly  in  error  if  he  imagined  that  Sawtheaire  and 
the  Mayor,  as  well  as  the  other  witnesses  who  had  failed 
to  appear,  were  not  really  wanted  on  the  trial  of  the  case ; 
that  no  one  understood  better  than  Lyman  Sawtheaire 
the  nature  and  meaning  of  a  subpoena;  that  .he  was 
satisfied  the  witnesses  were  absent  because  they  did  not 
wish  to  testify  against  the  defendants ;  and  that  he  was 
inclined  to  think  the  defendants,  and  perhaps  their  at 
torneys,  could  tell  where  these  witnesses  were  and  what 
was  the  price  of  their  absence. 


JUSTICE  TRIUMPHANT.  3/1 

At  this  remark,  Messrs.  Squabble,  Wriggle  and 
Dabble  sprang  to  their  six  feet,  and  Mr.  Squabble 
seized  an  inkstand.  Simultaneously  the  crowd  arose, 
and  craned  their  necks  forward,  watching,  with  breath 
less  anxiety,  to  see  the  outcome  of  the  quarrel. 

"Do  you  mean  to  insinuate  that  /know?"  shouted 
Squabble,  in  a  tremendous  voice. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  insinuate — "  exclaimed  Wriggle, 
in  gentle  and  remonstrative  tones. 

' '  Do  you  mean — do  you  mean — ah  !  do  you  mean — " 
chirruped  Dabble,  fussily  and  excitedly. 

These  sentences  were  all  cut  short  by  the  hurling  of 
the  inkstand  by  the  irate  Squabble.  Manning,  seeing 
what  was  coming,  ducked  his  head,  and  the  missile 
passed  over  him,  and  struck  the  wall  above  the 
Squire's  left  shoulder.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  rotary 
movement  communicated  to  the  inkstand  as  it  left 
Squabble's  hand,  no  serious  harm  would  have  ensued ; 
explanations  and  apologies  would  have  followed,  and 
the  conduct  of  the  case  would  have  proceeded  without 
serious  delay  from  so  trifling  a  circumstance ;  but  just 
as  the  weapon  soared  above  the  Squire's  shirt-front,  it 
had  accomplished  a  partial  revolution,  and  as  a  conse 
quence  the  Squire's  face  and  snow-white  bosom  were 
bespattered  with  ink.  Some  emphatic  words  escaped 
the  lips  of  that  injured  functionary — words  that  are  in 
compatible  with  the  dignity  of  the  bench  or  a  pro 
fession  of  religion.  He  gathered  a  handkerchief,  wiped 
the  ink  from  his  face  and  shirt-front,  fined  Squabble 
five  dollars  for  contempt,  and  administered  a  caustic 
lecture  to  the  attorneys,  making  no  discrimination  be 
tween  the  innocent  and  the  guilty,  exhorting  them  to 
cultivate  professional  dignity  and  courtesy  a  little  more 
vigorously,  and  hinting  of  a  place  for  bad  lawyers  where 
the  temperature  was  never  below  the  boiling  point.  One 
long-necked  youth  in  the  audience,  beginning  at  this 
point  to  appreciate  the  ludicrousness  of  the  situation, 
laughed  aloud,  and  then  cowered 'down  in  fear  behind  a 
hulk  of  flesh  in  front  of  him.  This  furnished  the  Squire 


372  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

with  an  additional  safety-valve  for  his  wrath,  and  the 
trembling  offender  was  dragged  from  his  covert  before 
the  majesty  of  the  law,  and  fined  five  dollars.  Squabble 
had  "cooled  down  "  by  this  time,  and  considering  him 
self  the  responsible  cause  for  the  young  man's  misfor 
tune,  paid  his  fine,  and  bade  him  go  on  his  way  rejoic 
ing. 

This  "gentle  passage  at  arms"  having  been  brought 
to  a  satisfactory  conclusion,  Mr.  Manning  asked  for  at 
tachments  for  his  absent  witnesses.  The  attachments 
were  issued. 

"Now,  let  us  proceed  with  the  case, "  said  Squabble. 
"If  these  men  do  not  purge  themselves  of  contempt 
when  brought  before  the  court,  let  them  be  fined.  That 
is  nothing  to  my  clients.  What  we  want  is  to  try  the 
case  and  be  done  with  it." 

Manning  stated  that  he  proposed  now  to  ask  for  a 
continuance  till  his  witnesses  could  be  arrested  and 
brought  before  the  court.  He  was  not  so  anxious  to 
have  them  fined  as  he  was  to  have  their  testimony. 

Squabble  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant. 

"  We  resist  the  motion,"  he  shouted.  "The  defend 
ants  are  here  ready  for  trial,  demanding  a  trial,  anxious 
to  acquit  themselves  of,  a  foul  charge  trumped  up 
against  them,  without  a  shadow  of«justification.  They 
do  n't  want  to  rest  for  another  day  under  the  imputation 
of  this  foul  libel.  Gentlemen  as  they  are,  sensitive, 
high-minded,  chivalrous,  the  thought  of  being  charged 
with  violations  of  the  law  is  irritating,  exceedingly 
irritating,  your  honor,  and  they  are  here  now  to  demand 
an  immediate  trial.  Will  your  honor  establish  the  dan 
gerous  precedent  of  granting  a  continuance  under  such 
circumstances  ?  Will  you  suffer  yourself  to  be  hood 
winked  by  a  beardless  attorney  ?  Let  it  be  understood 
now  that  we  do  not  waive  a  single  point,  but  stand  on 
all  our  rights.  We  demand  a  showing  by  affidavit." 

Wriggle  arose  timidly,  twisted  his  cane  with  one 
hand,  stroked  his  beard  with  the  other,  and  added 
apologetically : 


JUSTICE   TRIUMPHANT.  373 

"  We  stand  on  all  our  rights." 

"  We  stand  on  all  our  rights;  we  waive  not  a  single 
point,"  echoed  Dabble  in  a  bird-like  voice,  wrinkling 
up  his  forehead. 

•'It  seems  tome,  gentlemen,"  said  the  Squire, 
"that  it  would  be  an  act  of  gross  injustice  to  compel 
the  plaintiff  to  go  on  with  the  trial  when  her  witnesses 
are  absent  without  her  fault.  These  witnesses  have 
been  duly  subpoenaed,  but  they  are  not  here.  Why, 
it  is  not  my  business  now  to  inquire.  It  is  sufficient 
for  present  purposes  to  know  that  they  are  not  here. 
The  plaintiff's  motion  will  be  sustained  without  any 
further  showing,  and  the  case  continued  till  Friday 
morning  at  ten  o'clock*  in  this  room,  and  these  attach 
ments  will  be  made  returnable  at  that  time." 

' '  At  which  time, ''  said  Squabble,  ' '  we  expect  to  be 
prepared  to  present  to  this  court  an  application  for  a 
change  of  venue." 

"  We  hate  to  do  so, "  said  Wriggle,  "for  we  have  en 
tire  confidence  in  your  honor,  but  our  clients  desire  us 
to  make  an  application  for  a  change  of  venue." 

"We  do  so  at  the  request  of  our  clients,  if  the 
court  please."  remarked  Dabble. 

To  the  disappointment  of  the  crowd,  the  case  was 
continued.  Within  fifteen  minutes  afterwards  a  mes 
senger  was  dispatched  to  Holyterror  to  notify  Sawthe- 
aire  and  Trinkenviellager  that  attachments  had  been 
issued  for  them,  and  the  case  continued  till  Friday,  and 
to  advise  them  to  leave  the  county  for  the  remainder 
of  the  week.  It  was  thought  the  other  witnesses  could 
be  managed,  and  so  no  special  notice  was  sent  to  them. 
At  eleven  o'clock  on  Friday  morning,  according  to 
the  prevalent  opinion  that  in  a  justice's  court  "It  is 
ten  till  it  is  eleven,"  Squire  Ingleside  seated  himself 
in  the  judicial  chair,  and  the  defendants,  attorneys  and 
spectators  took  their  respective  places.  Squire  Jus 
tinian  Twinkle,  the  nearest  justice  of  the  peace,  had 
been  notified  that  a  change  of  venue  would  be  taken, 
and  that  loss  of  time  would  be  avoided  if  he  would 


374  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

be  present  to  relieve  Squire  Ingleside  immediately. 
He  had  been  treated  by  Holly  a  few  minutes  before 
eleven,  and  his  eyes  were  now  twinkling  with  greater 
velocity  than  ever.  He  was  a  very  small  man,  an  in 
significant-looking  creature,  an  inoffensive  man,  with 
shattered  nerves,  easily  jostled  out  of  plumb  by  a  thun 
dering  noise. 

When  the  affidavit  for  a  change  of  venue  was  read, 
Squire  Ingleside  remarked  that  if  a  man  wanted  to 
swear  a  lie,  he  himself  was  neither  legally  nor  morally 
to  blame  for  it,  and  proceeded  to  make  out  his  tran 
script  and  transfer  the  papers  in  the  case  to  Squire  Jus 
tinian  Twinkle.  He  stated,  however,  that  he  himself 
would  deal  with  the  gentlemen  under  arrest  for  contempt, 
and  thereupon  fined  each  of  them  five  dollars.  A  roll 
of  bills  had  been  slipped  into  the  constable's  hands  by 
saloon-keeper  Holly  before  they  had  entered  the  court 
room,  and  the  officer,  as  his  fist  closed  instinctively  on 
the  money,  had  been  admonished  to  settle  the  fines  for 
"the  boys,"  keep  something  "handsome"  for  himself, 
and  return  the  surplus,  if  any  there  might  be,  saying 
nothing  about  what  had  been  done.  So  "  the  boys  " 
were  not  punished  after  all. 

As  soon  as  Squire  Twinkle  had  taken  the  chair, 
Mr.  Manning  moved  for  another  continuance,  on  the 
ground  that  Savvtheaire  and  Trinkenviellager  had 
evaded  the  service  of  the  attachment  writs,  and  were 
still  at  large  in  parts  unknown.  -"They  are  very  im 
portant,  almost  indispensable  witnesses,"  he  said. 

"We  resist  the  motion,"  shouted  Squabble.  "I 
hope  this  court  will  not  keep  us  dancing  attendance 
here  the  rest  of  the  season,  waiting  for  witnesses  who 
know  nothing  about  the  case." 

Squire  Twinkle's  eyes  twinkled  uneasily.  The  loud 
voice  of  Squabble  had  the  effect  of  cowing  the  Squire 
and  making  him  tremble  like  a  leaf.  He  could  over 
rule  Wriggle  and  Dabble,  but  he  could  no  more  over 
rule  Squabble  than  the  charmed  bird  can  escape  its 
venomous  charmer.  So  he  held  that  it  would  be  very 


JUSTICE   TRIUMPHANT.  375 

unfair  to  keep  Mr.  Squabble  dancing  all  the  rest  of  the 
season — 

"Dancing  attendance,  your  honor,"  interposed  Mr. 
Dabble. 

"So  I  should  have  said ;  beg  pardon,  Mr.  Squabble, 
beg  pardon  most  humbly.  Of  course  the  court  knows 
you  do  n't  dance,  Mr.  Squabble.  I  say,  it  would  be  very 
unfair  to  keep  Mr.  Squabble  dancing  attendance  here 
for  the  rest  of  the  season.  Ah ! — what  was  the  rest  of 
it,  gentlemen  ?  " 

"Waiting,  your  honor,  for  witnesses  who  know 
nothing  about  the  case, "  suggested  Mr.  Dabble  meek 
ly,  rising  and  bowing. 

"Ah!  yes.  Why,  of  course,"  said  Squire  Twinkle. 
"  How  could  I  have  forgotten  it?  Yes,  Mr.  Manning, 
waiting  for  witnesses  who  know  nothing  about  the 
case." 

"  I  would  like  to  know,  your  honor,  how  you  know 
my  witnesses  know  nothing  about  the  case?"- 

As  Manning  propounded  this  question,  a  painful, 
puzzled  expression  gathered  over  the  Squire's  face, 
and  he  turned  to  Squabble  in  great  perplexity. 

"It  does  look  strange,"  he  said.  "Bless  me!  it 
does  look  monstrous  strange.  What  do  you  say  to 
that,  Mr.  Squabble?  How  should  I  know  that  his  wit 
nesses  know  nothing  about  the  case?" 

"Why,  your  honor,"  answered  Squabble,  laughing 
contemptuously,  "you  ought  to. know  and  do  know 
that  the  Mayor  and  Sawtheaire  are  not  that  kind  of 
men." 

The  burden  of  perplexity  rolled  from  the  Squire's 
face. 

"  Of  course  !  How  true  !  "  he  said.  "  Mr.  Squab 
ble,  you  're  a  tru — jewel,  I  mean.  Why  did  n't  I  think 
of  it?  Mr.  Manning,  they're  not  that  kind  of  men." 

Manning,  thoroughly  disgusted,  abandoned  this 
preliminary  skirmish.  The  Squire  overruled  his  motion 
for  a  continuance,  and  ordered  him  to  go  on  with  the 
trial.  To  try  the  case  before  Twinkle  was  certainly 


A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

suicidal.  Squabble  owned  him  body  and  soul,  and  he 
would  not  dare  to  decide  against  his  master,  whatever 
his  own  honest  convictions  might  be.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  was  perilous  to  ask  for  a  jury,  which  would 
have  to  be  summoned  by  the  constable,  who  was  a 
well  known  tool  of  the  saloons,  accustomed  to  wink  at 
their  violations  of  the  law  in  return  for  an  occasional 
drink  and  their  influence  in  the  convention  and  at  the 
polls.  The  court-room  was  crowded  with  saloon  sym 
pathizers,  and  the  constable  could  very  easily  select  a 
jury  in  the  interests  of  the  defendants.  And  yet,  un 
der  the  circumstances,  a  jury  was  the  only  hope  of  the 
plaintiff. 

When  a  jury  was  demanded  Twinkle's  eyes  sparkled 
with  joy.  He  was  really  desirous  of  doing  right,  but 
-Squabble  would  not  let  him.  When  Squabble  laid 
down  the  law,  or  announced  his  desires,  the  Squire 
was  too  weak  to  gainsay  or  resist  him.  Now  the  jury 
would  have  to  decide  the  case,  and  relieve  him  from 
the  gravest  part  of  the  responsibility. 

Does  the  reader  suppose  for  an  instant  that  this 
contingency  had  not  been  foreseen  and  provided  for? 
The  constable  certainly  knew  how  to  serve  the  venire 
in  an  acceptable  manner  to  his  friends,  and  when  the 
six  loyal  citizens  had  been  called  into  the  box,  Man 
ning  found  himself  confronted  with  six  men  who  were 
as  bitterly  opposed  to  the  dram-shop  act  as  men  of 
their  class  could  be  opposed  to  anything.  However, 
by  skillful  examination  and  a  judicious  exercise  of  the 
right  of  challenge,  he  succeeded  in  ousting  the  most 
stubborn  of  these,  and  in  filling  their  places  with  men 
who  had  some  measure  of  regard  for  the  law  and  their 
oaths.  Only  one  man  of  the  jury  as  selected  and  sworn 
was  what  might  be  called  a  temperance  man.  All  the 
others  were  daily  frequenters  of  saloons,  though  two 
of  them  could  ordinarily  be  trusted  to  submit  to  the 
law.  Before  this  jury  the  trial  proceeded. 

After  the  opening  statements  had  been  made,  Joe 
Jimson  was  sworn  and  directed   to  take  the  witness- 


JUSTICE  TRIUMPHANT.  377 

stand.  Joe  had  evidently  been  prepared  for  the  occa 
sion.  In  a  state  of  partial  intoxication  as  he  was,  the 
defendants  thought  they  had  but  little  to  fear  from  his 
testimony.  He  answered  satisfactorily  the  preliminary 
questions  as  to  his  name  and  age.  He  stated  that  he 
knew  Henry  Anderson,  and  had  seen  him  on  the  day  of 
the  convention.  He  also  stated  that  he  was  acquainted 
with  the  places  of  business  of  the  defendants,  an  affir 
mation  which  was  accepted  without  any  effort  at  con 
tradiction  from  either  side. 

"  Did  you  see  Henry  Anderson  in  Harvey  Holly's 
saloon  after  the  convention  ?" 

"  Wall,  now,  I  seen  so  many  thar  that  I  really  don't 
remember  who  I  did  see.  I  'm  from  old  Kaintuck,  Mr. 
Manning."  The  witness  assumed  a  martial  appearance. 

"Please  name  some  of  the  gentlemen  you  saw  in 
that  saloon." 

"I  believe  in  my  soul  I  can't  name  a  man.  It's 
been  so  long — " 

"  A  little  more  than  a  week,  I  believe,"  interrupted 
Manning.  "  Yes  indeed,  it  has  been  a  long  time.  Then 
tell  us  who  were  with  you  when  you  left  the  conven 
tion." 

' '  I  believe  it  was  Henry  Anderson — yes,  I  believe 
it  was  Henry." 

"And  Sawtheaire?" 

"Wall,  yes,  I  believe  Sawtheaire  was  along." 

"Now,  Jimson,  don't  you  know  Sawtheaire  and 
Anderson  were  with  you?" 

"It's  been  so  long,  Mr.  Manning — it's  hard  to  re 
member  all  these  here  circumstances.  'Pears  like  they 
war  both  along.  But  it  seems  a'most  like  a  dream." 

"  Well,  where  did  you  go?" 

' '  Whar  did  I  go  ?  Oh,  I  went  to  so  many  places, 
I  can  't  tell  whar  all  I  did  go.  I  'm  from  old  Kain 
tuck,  Mr.  Manning." 

"  Did  n't  you  go  into  Holly's  saloon  ?" 

"  Now  we  might.  'Pears  like  we  did,  come  to  think 
of  it." 


3/8  A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

"We  object!"  shouted  Squabble,  Wriggle  and  Dab 
ble  in  a  chorus.  "The  witness  must  state  facts,  not 
opinions  or  guesses !" 

"Why,  certainly,"  said  the  Squire,  "the  witness 
must  state  facts,  not — "  Here  he  was  unceremoniously 
interrupted  by  Manning,  who  propounded  another 
question  to  the  witness. 

"  Did  n't  you  drink  in  the  saloon  together  after  you 
went  there  from  the  convention?" 

Now  the  saloon-keepers  had  overcharged  their  wit 
ness.  His  ideas  were  exceedingly  muddy.  He  recol 
lected  enough  of  the  law  to  know  that  perjury  was  a 
crime.  He  thought  it  highly  desirable  to  steer  clear  of 
perjury  and  at  the  same  time  to  so  qualify  his  testimony 
that  it  would  be  valueless  to  the  plaintiff.  As  well  as 
he  could  determine  in  his  present  wool-gathering  state  of 
mind,  he  could  accomplish  both  ends  by  qualifying  his 
statements  under  an  indefinite  "'pears  like."  So  he 
answered: 

"Well  now,  it  'pears  like  we  did  drink  sump'n. 
Couldn't  swear  what  it  was.  But  whatever  it  was,  it 
'ud  run  down  hill." 

Here  the  witness  winked  at  the  Squire,  whose  eyes 
twinkled  sympathetically. 

' '  We  object !"  again  shouted  the  opposition.  ' '  We 
move  that  the  question  and  answer  be  stricken  out." 

Then  Squabble  arose  and  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the 
quaking  Squire. 

"  Your  honor,"  he  roared,  "  the  question  is  leading. 
This  court  knows  that  a  man  can't  ask  a  leading  ques 
tion  of  his  own  witness." 

' '  O  law  !  Mr.  Squabble,  the  court  knows  it !  But  he 's 
already  done  it !" 

"Then  strike  out  the  question  and  answer,  why 
don't  you  ?" 

"  Why  certainly,  Mr.  Squabble!  Of  course!"  piped 
the  Squire. 

"But,  your  honor,"  interposed  Manning,  "  if  the 
witness  is  manifestly  hostile  to  the  party  calling  him, 


JUSTICE   TRIUMPHANT.  379 

the  court   has  the  discretion   to  permit  leading  ques 
tions  to  be  asked.      Let  me  read  from  Greenleaf — " 

"Green'  fiddlesticks!"  cried  Squabble.  "Now, 
Manning,  do  n't  pettifog  !" 

"Please  don't  pettifog,"  said  Wriggle,  deprecat- 
ingly. 

"Don't  pettifog-fog-fog-fog  ! "  exclaimed  Dabble, 
excitedly. 

"Your  honor,"  continued  Squabble,  "the  question 
is  liable  to  another  objection.  The  question  assumes 
facts  to  be  true  which  are  not  yet  proved.  It  assumes 
that  the  witness,  Anderson  and  Sawtheaire  were  in  the 
saloon  together;  it  assumes  that  they  went  there ;  it  as 
sumes  that  they  went  there  after  the  convention;  it  as 
sumes  that  there  was  a  convention.  This  is  a  violation 
of  one  of  the  plainest  rules  of  evidence.  Then  the 
answer  is  more  objectionable  than  the  question,  if  such 
a  thing  is  possible.  The  witness  says,  'pears  like.  He  's 
guessing  at  the  matter.  He  evidently  does  not  remem 
ber  what  did  occur.  He  doesn't  pretend  to  tell  this 
jury  what  he  drank.  It  may  have  been  water  or  pop, 
for  all  he  says  or  remembers.  Is  this  court  going  to 
sit  here  and  permit  the  rights  of  loyal  citizens  to  be 
frittered  away  by  such  foolishness?" 

"Of  course  not,"  said  the  Squire.  "Certainly 
not." 

' '  Your  honor, "  shouted  Manning,  now  fully  aroused, 
and  with  a  voice  as  terrible  as  Squabble's,  "are  you 
going  to  sit  here  like  a  parrot,  making  your  rulings 
out  of  Squabble's  speeches?  If  that's  the  way  you 
propose  to  hold  court,  I  'm  going  to  leave !" 

"Of  course  not,  Mr.  Manning;  certainly  not," 
stammered  the  Squire,  finding  himself  between  two 
fires,  -  and  not  knowing  how  to  extricate  himself. 
"Gentlemen,  can't  you  settle  this  matter  among 
yourselves  ?" 

This  being  impracticable,  inasmuch  as  counsel  were 
of  contrary  opinions  and  represented  conflicting  inter 
ests,  the  Squire  compromised  the  matter  by  leaving  it 


380  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

to  the  jury  to  say  what  ought  to  be  done.  "  What 's  a 
jury  for?"  asked  the  Squire.  "You're  entitled  to  a 
trial  by  jury,  and  I  guess  I  '11  let  them  try  the  whole 
case."  One  juror  said  that  as  "  fur  as  he  was  consarned 
he  was  willin'  to  hyar  the  hull  thing."  This  ruling 
was  broad  enough  for  Manning,  and  he  resumed  the 
examination. 

"  You  say  it  appears  like  you  drank  something  in 
Holly's  saloon.  Tell  us  what  it  was." 

1 '  I  tell  you  I  do  n't  know  what  it  was." 

"  Yes,  but  I  do  n't  believe  you.  You  do  know,  and 
I  propose  to  have  an  answer." 

Here  Mr.  Dabble  mildly  expostulated  against  the 
use  of  language  which  would  seem  to  imply  that  the 
examiner  doubted  the  truth  of  what  the  witness  had 
said.  Manning  paid  no  attention  to  the  suggestion  of 
Mr.  Dabble. 

"What  was  it?"  he  demanded,  raising  his  voice. 
"Was  it  water?" 

"  Tears  like  it  was  n't  water, "  answered  the  witness. 

"  We  object,  and  ask  that  the  answer  be  stricken 
out,"  shouted  Squabble,  Wriggle  and  Dabble. 

"  What  did  it  taste  like  ?  "  roared  Manning,  paying 
no  attention  to  the  objection. 

"Tears  like  it  tasted  like  whisky,"  admitted  Jim- 
son,  utterly  confounded  by  the  joint  action  of  the 
liquor  within  and  the  heat  and  confusion  without,  and 
clinging  tenaciously  to  his  saving  clause,  \  'pears  like. 

The  defendants  and  their  attorneys  gasped  and 
stared  at  the  witness  with  wondering  eyes.  Before 
they  could  rally  from  their  surprise  one  more  question 
was  asked  and  answered. 

"What  did  it  smell  like?" 

"Tears  like  it  smelt  like  whisky." 

"That  is  all,"  said  Manning  triumphantly. 

"  We  object,"  cried  the  captious  three. 

"Object  to  what?"  asked  Manning  exasperatingly. 
"Won't  you  allow  a  fellow  to  quit  when  he  gets 
through?" 


JUSTICE   TRIUMPHANT.  38! 

Jimson  looked  dazed.  He  had  a  foggy  idea  that  he 
must  have  said  more  than  he  intended.  Else  why  the 
strenuous  efforts  of  the  counsel  for  defendants  to  have 
his  answers  excluded  from  the  jury?  The  perspiration 
oozed  through  his  skin.  He  wiped  his  face  with  his 
handkerchief. 

"You  can  go,"  said  Squabble.  "We  don't  want 
to  ask  questions  of  a  drunken  man,"  he  added  con 
temptuously. 

"Then  you  ought  not  to  have  made  him  drunk," 
retorted  Manning. 

As  Jimson  passed  the  defendants,  Holly  whispered  : 
"You  're  an  infernal  old  fool !  The  next  time  you  get 
a  treat  at  my  bar,  you  '11  know  it !  "  Jimson  sat  down, 
feeling  that  he  had  made  the  great  mistake  of  his  life, 
but  not  able  to  tell  how,  and  realizing  that  if  Holly 
meant  what  he  said  there  was  many  a  "dry  and  lone 
some  "  day  for  him  in  the  future. 

Squabble  slowly  erected  himself  upon  his  number 
eleven  boots,  and  addressed  the  court  with  great  solem 
nity  and  deliberation. 

"  I  am  surprised  to  find  a  court  of  the  known  abil 
ity  of  your  honor  allowing  a  pettifogger  to  impose 
evidence  upon  this  jury  which  is  not  competent  in 
any  court  upon  the  face  of  the  earth.  I  say,  I  am 
surprised.  I  almost  regret  that  we  have  taken  a  change 
of  venue.  The  last  two  questions  and  answers  are  so 
clearly  incompetent  that  argument  is  unnecessary,  and 
we  simply  interpose,  without  argument,  a  motion  to 
strike  them  out  of  the  record." 

"We  interpose  a  motion,  without  argument,  to 
strike  them  out  of  the  record,"  said  Wriggle,  half 
rising,  and  speaking  very  respectfully. 

"To  strike — strike — strike — "  began  Dabble,  when 
he  was  cut  short  by  an  indignant  speech  from  Manning. 

"Your  honor,"  said  that  gentleman,  "are  you  go 
ing  to  back  down  from  your  rulings  again,  or  are  you 
going  to  have  the  backbone  to  stand  by  the  record  as 
made  ?  I  '11  leave  it  to  the  jury,  as  I  did  before. " 


A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"Why,  certainly,  gentlemen.  Yes,  yes,  I'll  leave 
it  to  the  jury.  Trial  by  jury  is  a  constitutional  right, 
gentlemen,  and — and  very  handy.  What  is  the  jury 
here  for,  if  not  to  settle  your  differences?  Gentlemen 
of  the  jury,  I  have  sworn  you  to  try  this  case,  and  I 
want  you  to  try  it.  You  've  heard  this  fuss,  gentle 
men  ;  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?  Shall  these 
questions  and  answers  be  struck  out  or  not?" 

"  We  think  the  court  orter  let  us  hyar  all  the  facts," 
said  the  same  juror  who  had  spoken  before.  "  Here 
we  've  sot  all  arternoon,  an'  hyard  a  leetle  evidence, 
an'  a  mighty  sight  o'  wranglin',  an'  now  they  wants 
yer  honor  to  knock  down  what  leetle  we  have  hyard. 
How  kin  we  try  a  case  unless  we  hyar  sump'n  ?  " 

"Why,  bless  me,  gentlemen,  of  course!"  said 
the  Squire.  "  How  in  the  world  can  you  try  a  case 
unless  you  hear  something?  True  as  gospel!  The 
children  of  this  world  are  wiser  than  the  children  of 
light!  Mr.  Squabble,  the  jury  have  to  hear  some 
thing.  Why  didn't  we  think  of  that  before?" 

After  this  weighty  legal  opinion  had  been  delivered, 
and  the  grumbling  of  the  attorneys  for  the  defendants, 
who  were  afraid  to  oppose  the  jury  too  openly,  had 
subsided,  Dick  Gaudy  was  called  to  the  witness  stand. 
Dick  Gaudy  was  a  man  of  great  "  honah,  you  know," 
and  under  no  circumstances  would  he  betray  a  man  who 
had  befriended  him  in  a  time  of  "extreme  drouth,  you 
know."  As  he  passed  Holly,  the  two  gentlemen  ex 
changed  winks.  When  he  came  on  the  stand  he  re 
fused  to  answer ;  he  explained  that  he  meant  no  disre 
spect  to  the  court,  but  that  he  weally  could  not  answer 
consistently  with  his  conscience,  you  know.  He  was 
fined  five  dollars.  He  paid  the  fine  and  costs,  and 
started  to  leave  the  room. 

"Don't  leave,"  said  Manning,  "I  want  to  put  you 
on  the  stand  again.  I  '11  continue  calling  you  as  a  wit 
ness  till  your  treasury  is  exhausted." 

At  this  point  the  court  took  an  adjournment  till 
morning. 


JUSTICE   TRIUMPHANT.  383 

When  the  witnesses  learned  that  to  be  fined  once 
was  not  equivalent  to  a  release  from  testifying,  they  be 
gan  to  grow  uneasy  and  to  be  more  ready  with  their 
answers.  And  so  the  trial  continued,  till  after  a  spir 
ited  contest,  and  many  failures  and  some  successes, 
Manning  concluded  that  he  had  established  the  liability 
of  the  defendants  to  the  satisfaction  of  every  unpreju 
diced  mind.  The  defendants  offered  no  evidence,  re 
lying  upon  the  bold  assertion  of  the  lawyers  that  the 
plaintiff  had  failed  to  make  out  even  z.  prima  facie  case, 
and  loudly  asserting  that  it  would  be  a  waste  of  pre 
cious  time  for  them  to  undertake  to  combat  a  man  of 
straw.  With  this  flourish  of  trumpets  the  evidence 
closed.  The  case  was  argued  at  great  length,  and  sub 
mitted  to  the  jury  late  at  night. 

After  twenty-four  hours  of  stormy  deliberation,  the 
jury  rendered  a  verdict  for  plaintiff,  and  assessed  her 
damages  at  fifty  dollars.  Justice  had  triumphed  over 
perjury  and  corruption. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

DELIBERATION. 

Squire  Ingleside,  Marion  Spence  and  Jacob  Haynes 
met  together  in  William  Manning's  office  a  few  days 
after  the  trial,  to  consider  certain  questions  in  which 
they  felt  deeply  interested.  The  Squire's  dislike  for 
Sawtheaire  had  been  greatly  intensified  by  the  develop 
ments  of  the  convention.  Men  who  had  pledged  them 
selves  absolutely  to  vote  for  Manning,  some  of  them 
within  an  hour  of  the  opening  of  the  convention,  had 
most  unaccountably  broken  their  pledges,  and  given  their 
votes  and  influence  to  Sawtheaire.  It  was  not  known 
that  this  faithlessness  was  the  result  of  barter  and  sale, 
but  it  was  thought  to  be,  by  some  of  the  best  citizens 
of  the  county.  The  Squire  had  openly  asserted  his 
belief  that  such  was  the  case.  In  addition  to  this,  the 
fact  that  the  saloon-keepers  had  sworn  that  they  could 
not  have  a  fair  and  impartial  trial  of  their  case  before 
him,  had  stirred  up  his  ire  against  them,  and  also 
against  Sawtheaire  and  the  Mayor,  who  seemed  to  have 
been  connected  in  some  way  with  the  management  of 
the  case.  Spence  and  Haynes  had  been  invited  to 
meet  the  Squire  and  Manning  at  the  latter's  office  this 
morning,  to  concert  measures  for  the  unearthing  of  what 
the  Squire  believed  to  be  a  foul  conspiracy  to  defeat 
justice  by  inducing  witnesses  to  abscond  and  to  com 
mit  perjury.  The  conversation  drifted  at  first  into  the  dis 
cussion  of  certain  preliminary  and  incidental  questions. 

"You  have  abandoned  the  saloon  business  alto 
gether,  I  believe,"  said  the  Squire,  addressing  himself 
to  Mr.  Spence. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  made  up  my  mind  a  few  days  ago  to 
give  up  the  business  altogether.  After  what  I  had  seen 
and  learned,  it  seemed  to  me  I  could  not  be  an  honest 
man  and  deal  out  liquor  over  the  bar." 

384 


DELIBERATION.  385 

"Why  not?" 

' '  Well,  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  business 
was  a  curse  to  society.  How  then  could  I  honestly 
and  consistently  continue  in  it?  I  thought  I  might  get 
forgiveness  for  the  past  if  I  reformed  at  once ;  but  if  I 
went  on  after  having  had  my  eyes  opened,  there  would 
be  no  excuse  for  my  sin,  and  possibly  no  forgiveness. 
So  I  took  off  my  apron,  locked  up  my  saloon,  and 
haven't  opened  it  for  business  since." 

' '  You  always  kept  good  liquor,  Spence.  So  I  sup 
pose  you  have  some  tiptop  brandy  for  sale  by  the 
quantity.  I  '11  come  over  and  see  what  you  have  ;  may 
be  we  can  strike  a  trade." 

"Why  no,  Squire,  I  haven't  anything  to  sell  either 
by  the  glass  or  the  quantity.  You  see  I  reason  in 
this  way :  what  I  dare  not  do  directly  I  dare  not  do 
indirectly,  or  through  others.  I  think  the  whole 
sale  dealer  is  just  as  guilty  as  the  retail  dealer.  Why 
not?  I  think  a  man  who  leases  a  room  to  another 
for  a  saloon  is  just  as  guilty  as  the  man  who  occu 
pies  the  room  and  sells  the  liquor.  Suppose  I  should 
rent  a  room  to  men  in  which  to  engage  in  any  law 
less  business,  would  I  not  be  guilty  of  an  offense  in 
the  eyes  of  the  law  ?  If  I  should  rent  a  building 
to  parties  in  which  it  was  proposed  to  maintain  a 
nuisance,  would  I  not  be  aiding  and  abetting  them 
in  their  wrong?  Now  what  do  you  suppose  I  have 
done?  " 

"You  have  quit  the  business,  so  you  have  said, 
and  so  the  people  say." 

' '  More  than  that.  Carrying  out  my  argument  still 
further,  if  the  saloon  business  is  a  moral  wrong,  and  I 
give  it  up  on  that  ground,  how  can  I  close  out  my  stock 
to  others  to  be  retailed  by  them  ?  Would  I  not  morally 
be  a  party  to  their  sales  ?  Either  I  must  lose  what  is 
invested,  or  I  must  sell  my  stock.  If  I  sell  my  stock, 
I  do  it  to  save  myself  from  loss,  and  become  responsi 
ble  in  a  measure  for  the  sales  made  by  my  vendee. 
You  understand  I  am  speaking  from  a  moral,  not  from 


386  A    SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

a  legal  standpoint.  You  think  I  'm  right,  Mr.  Man 
ning,  I  know  you  do." 

"Your  reasoning  is  certainly  correct,"  said  Man 
ning.  "  But  what  next?" 

"I  want  you  to  understand  who  furnished  me  my 
arguments.  When  I  closed  my  saloon,  you  wrote  to 
Miss  Oakford  ;  and  she,  immediately  after  the  receipt  of 
your  letter,  wrote  me  her  congratulations,  and  told  me 
what  to  do  with  my  stock,  and  furnished  me  with  all 
these  arguments." 

"And  you  have  obeyed  her  instructions  ?"  asked 
Manning. 

"  As  scrupulously  as  if  she  were  my  military  supe 
rior.  And  at  this  moment  there  isn't  a  single  drop  of 
any  drink  except  water  in  my  saloon." 

"Who  bought  your  stock?"  asked  the  Squire,  be 
coming  more  interested,  not  having  anticipated  the  con 
clusion  from  the  premises. 

"I  emptied  my  stock  upon  the  ground  this  morn 
ing.  The  fluid  has  percolated  into  the  earth,  and  all 
that  remains  is  a  savory  smell  back  of  my  saloon  " 

' '  Spence,  you  're  a  fool, "  cried  the  Squire.  ' '  What ! 
You  do  n't  mean  to  tell  me  seriously  that  you  've  poured 
good  old  Bourbon  on  the  ground  ?  Percolated  into  the 
earth  !  Why  did  n't  you  send  me  a  jug  full,  and  let  it 
percolate  down  my  throat?  Emptied  the  whole  stock  on 
the  ground!  Why,  man,  that's  just  a  little  bit  too  good." 

"That  is  what  I  've  done,  at  any  rate." 

"Oh,  now,  Spence,  you're  not  in  earnest?" 

"Yes,  I  am,  Squir  .  I  Ve  told  you  the  facts  of  the 
case." 

"Spence,"  said  the  Squire,  searching  his  com 
panion's  face  keenly  for  evidence  of  insanity,  * '  what 
good  have  you  done  the  cause  of  temperance  ?  You  've 
robbed  yourself,  I  tell  you,  and  done  no  good  to  any 
one.  Do  you  suppose  there  will  be  less  liquor  sold  in 
this  town  than  if  you  had  closed  out  your  stock  to  the 
saloon-keepers,  and  had  saved  something  to  start  you 
in  some  other  business  ?  " 


DELIBERATION.  387 

"Well,  no,  I  suppose  not,"  was  the  answer.  "That 
disposes  of  your  last  question.  And  as  to  what  good 
my  example  can  do  the  cause  of  temperance,  I  am  un 
able  to  state.  But  I  believe  it  will  do  some  good.  The 
chief  point  with  me  is  this:  I  start  in  life  with  nothing; 
if  I  build  up  a  fortune,  it  is  not  built  on  blood-money 
or  wrong-doing.  My  conscience  approves  of  what  I 
have  done.  I  can't  atone  for  the  past,  but  I  can  be 
gin  anew  and  look  out  for  the  future." 

"Well,  well,  well !"  said  the  Squire.  "It  seems 
as  if  a  man  in  this  generation  had  to  be  either  a  devil 
or  a  crank.  I  refer  now  to  the  rising  generation — to 
our  young  men.  There  are  some  of  the  older  people, 
who  can,  like  the  late  Senator  Douglas,  strike  the 
golden  mean,  and  avoid  either  extreme.  You  probably 
know  such  men,  Spence.  But  these  youngsters  bob 
from  one  extreme  to  another — they  go  the  whole  hog 
or  none,  as  the  saying  is.  I  Ve  no  doubt  that  Man 
ning  believes  a  man  who  takes  an  occasional  dram  is 
bound  for  the  bottomless  pit." 

"I  have  not  said  so,"  was  the  answer.  "You  're 
not  inclined  to  deal  fairly  with  me,  Squire.  I  believe 
that  there  are  many  such  characters  in  heaven  now. 
I  'm  opposed  to  slavery,  but  I  believe  there  are  slave 
owners  there.  I  'm  opposed  to  polygamy,  and  yet, 
if  David  and  Solomon  are  in  heaven,  polygamists  are 
there.  But  it  does  not  follow  from  these  admissions 
that  it  is  right  for  us  to  be  slave-owners,  or  polygamists, 
or  moderate  drinkers.  We  have  more  light  than  men 
of  the  past  had.  Christianity  is  no  longer  in  the  seed  ; 
it  is  even  now  in  the  bud,  and  almost  ready  to  bloom. 
Every  man  must  be  perfect  in  his  generation — he  must 
live  according  to  the  light  which  beams  upon  him.  The 
hour  has  come  for  conflict  with  the  saloon  power. 
Other  great  issues  have  been  raised  and  settled,  and 
now  this  tremendous  issue  is  upon  us.  King  Alcohol 
must  be  dethroned.  Whatever  arguments  you  may 
seek  to  draw  from  isolated  passages  of  Scripture  to  the 
contrary,  it  can  not  be  denied  that  the  Church,  gen- 


388  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

erally  speaking,  is  to-day  at  war  with  the  saloon  power, 
and  that  the  purer  the  Church  becomes  the  greater  is 
its  antagonism  to  that  power.  This  shows  conclusively 
that  the  spirit  of  Christianity  is  in  favor  of  total  absti 
nence.  If  you  ask  what  I  mean  by  the  spirit  of  Chris 
tianity,  I  answer,  the  consensus  of  Christians  on  this 
question,  resulting  from  the  acceptance  and  practice  of 
pure  Christianity.  Now,  Squire,  I  Ve  preached  long 
enough.  I  want  to  close  by  asking  you  a  question : 
If  you  had  a  son,  how  would  you  like  for  me  to  take 
him  into  a  saloon,  say  once  a  week,  and  treat  him?  " 

"I  wouldn't  like  it!"  was  the  frank  and  emphatic 
answer. 

"Why  not?" 

"Well,  the  fact  is,  I— I — you  see — he  might  learn 
to  drink  too  much.  If  I  knew  he  would  be  as  temper 
ate  as  I  am,  I  would  n't  care." 

"That  is  to  say,  you  have  no  assurance  your  boy 
would  be  a  moderate  drinker.  You  would  fear  he 
might  be  mastered  by  appetite,  and  become  a  miserable 
drunkard.  What  would  be  true  of  your  son,  if  you  had 
one,  is  true  of  all  young  men.  If  they  are  tempted  and 
led  into  a  habit  of  moderate  drinking,  we  have  no  assur 
ance  that  they  will  not  become  drunkards.  On  the 
contrary,  we  have  the  positive  assurance  that  some  of 
them  will.  Ought  we  to  nurse  saloons,  then,  when 
such  terrible  results  follow  from  the  use  of  liquor?" 

"See  here,  Manning,  this  theme  is  getting  thread 
bare.  I  used  to  hear  such  stuff  before  you  were  born. 
If  the  giants  of  an  earlier  day  failed  to  convert  me, 
what  hope  is  there  for  the  striplings  of  this  genera 
tion  ?  You  can  't  teach  old  dogs  new  tricks." 

"  I  can  have  my  say,  at  any  rate.  You  know  that 
saloons  neither  feed  nor  clothe  the  poor  and  needy. 
You  know  that  saloon-keepers,  as  a  rule,  are  godless, 
lawless  and  selfish.  You  know  that  some  of  them,  in 
our  large  cities  especially,  are  absolutely  without  re 
gard  for  the  law — are  anarchists  in  the  broadest  sense 
of  the  word.  You  know  that  no  man  is  better  off  for 


DELIBERATION.  389 

spending  his  hard  earnings  in  the  saloon,  or  for  spend 
ing  his  days  and  evenings  there,  neglecting  his  business 
and  family.  Of  course,  Squire,  you  do  not  do  this.  You 
go  in  and  get  your  drink,  and  then  go  away.  But  there 
are  many  who  do  not  restrain  their  appetite  as  you  do. 
For  them  and  their  families  saloons  are  nothing  but  a 
curse.  Besides  this,  you  know  that  our  courts  are  kept 
busy,  at  a  great  expense,  trying  cases  for  which  the 
saloon  business  is  responsible ;  that  the  great  propor 
tion  of  crimes  of  violence  are  attributable  to  the  use  of 
strong  drink.  Why  not  wipe  out  a  business  which  is  a 
curse  from  every  standpoint,  and  a  blessing  from  none  ? 
What  are  we  maintaining  saloons  for  ?  To  curse  the 
people,  and  rob  the  poor,  and  damn  the  innocent  with 
the  guilty,  and  trample  on  law,  and  defy  all  au 
thority,  and  fill  graves  with  drunkards  ?  If  these  are 
not  some  of  the  reasons  for  maintaining  saloons,  they 
are  certainly  the  results  which  flow  from  their  main 
tenance.  Saloons  do  not  make  men  better  or  purer,  or 
make  their  families  happier,  or  feed  the  poor,  or  clothe 
the  naked." 

In  his  earnestness  Manning  arose  during  the  utter 
ance  of  these  impassioned  words,  and  strode  rapidly  up 
and  down  the  room. 

"But,  Manning,  be  reasonable,  will  you?  The 
stuff  will  be  sold,  and  the  best  we  can  do  is  to  regulate 
the  sale." 

"  Wipe  it  out !  Stop  the  manufacture  of  it!"  cried 
Manning,  with  some  degree  of  excitement. 

"  Oh,  you  never  can  prohibit  its  manufacture !" 

"Never  is  a  long  time,  Squire,"  said  Manning, 
more  mildly. 

"I'm  aware  of  it.  That's  why  I  used  the  word. 
I  say  the  manufacture  of  the  stuff  will  go  on  while  the 
world  stands.  If  it 's  the  devil's  business,  as  you 
think,  do  you  think  the  devil  will  abdicate  soon  ?  Not 
a  bit  of  it." 

"The  good  work  will  go  on,  nevertheless.  You 
know  that  I  am  right,  but  you  are  too  stubborn  to  say 


39O  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

so.  The  convention  of  the  other  day  is  yet  fresh  in 
your  mind.  You  know  something  of  the  corrupting 
influence  of  the  saloon  power.  I  suppose  you  have  not 
forgotten  the  affidavit  for  a  change  of  venue  in  the  An 
derson  case?" 

"Forgotten  it!  That  I  haven't!"  exclaimed  the 
Squire,  reddening.  "The  scoundrels!  They  swore 
to  a  lie,  every  man  of  them !  Now  you  're  getting 
down  to  business,  Manning.  That  is  what  I  'm  here  to 
talk  about." 

"  Manning  has  got  you  on  the  other  question," 
said  Haynes,  laughing  good-humoredly. 

"The  infamous  scoundrels!"  continued  the  Squire, 
not  heeding  the  interruption.  "They  ought  to  be  in 
dicted  for  perjury,  and  sent  to  the  penitentiary,  where 
they  might  try  a  hand  for  a  while  at  an  honest  trade. 
Manning,  I  grow  indignant!  I  do,  indeed!  We're 
getting  near  the  lake  of 'brimstone,  and  the  world  is 
about  to  dry  out  and  go  to  staves  !" 

For  a  moment  the  Squire's  indignation  abated.  His 
own  words  had  evidently  recalled  pleasant  memories 
from  the  past.  He  sighed  and  said :  ' '  Ah  !  well  do  I 
remember  where  I  heard  that  identical  expression  used 
by  a  greater  man  than  I.  It  was  after  the  election  in 
the  Fall  of  '60.  Senator  Douglas  laid  his  hand  fa 
miliarly  upon  my  shoulder,  and  said  with  a  trembling 
voice:  '  Ingleside,  the  world  is  going  to  staves  !' ' 
The  Squire  wiped  his  eyes  and  looked  at  the  floor. 
Then  he  arose  and  confronted  Manning,  as  if  he  ex 
pected  to  be  contradicted,  and,  moving  his  hand  tragi 
cally,  cried  out :  "  Manning,  the  villains  did  n't  want 
a  fair  trial !  That  is  what  they  would  have  got,  if  they 
had  n't  taken  a  change  of  venue.  Squabble  wanted  to 
get  the  case  before  his  tool,  and  his  clients  were  ready 
to  swear  to  anything  he  saw  fit  to  write.  They  would 
have  sworn  that  the  sky  was  red,  sir!  And  that  an 
apple-tree  would  bear  persimmons,  sir  !  Is  there  a  man 
here  who  denies  these  propositions  ?  If  there  is,  I  '11 
meet  him  in  debate !  Manning,  are  you  going  to  let 


DELIBERATION.  39 1 

this  matter  rest  here?"      ihe  last  words  were  spoken 
calmly ;  and  the  Squire  took  a  fresh  chew  of  tobacco. 

"  Not  as  long  as  there  is  a  hook  of  the  law  I  can 
take  them  on, "  was  the  answer.  ' '  I  'm  going  to  present 
them  to  the  next  grand  jury.  I  have  n't  a  particle  of 
doubt  but  that  Henry  Anderson  is  in  the  habit  of  get 
ting  intoxicated  within  the  meaning  of  the  law.  The 
saloon-keepers  will  have  to  show  themselves  to  be  ex 
perts  at  perjury  if  they  escape." 

"They  '11  beat  you  before  the  grand  jury,"  said  the 
Squire.  "They're  keen  fellows,  and  their  bread  and 
butter  will  depend  on  beating  these  prosecutions.  The 
statute  provides  imprisonment  as  well  as  a  fine,  and  they 
are  not  seeking  for  stone  cells,  let  me  tell  you.  Ah  ! 
that  expression  reminds  me  of  an  incident  that  occurred 
in  the  fifties,  when  I  was  a  much  younger  man  than  I 
am  now.  Well  do  I  remember  the  remark  and  the  oc 
casion  !  Senator  Douglas  was  defending  a  seedy  look 
ing  individual  for  stealing  an  old  cow.  He  stepped  to  the 
place  where  I  was  sitting,  and  putting  his  mouth  close 
to  my  ear,  whispered :  '  My  client  is  not  seeking  for  a 
stone  cell,  let  me  tell  you !'  I  have  never  forgotten  the 
force  of  those  words." 

"That  was  indeed  a  remarkable  statement,"  said 
Spence. 

"Remarkable !"  echoed  the  Squire.  "  I  should  say 
it  was  !  How  clear-cut  and  positive !  How  aptly  it  set 
forth  his  client's  desire  in  negative  terms !  But  to  de 
scend  from  these  heights  of  recollection  into  the  plain 
below,  permit  me  to  say  that  these  fellows  will  beat  you 
before  the  grand  jury."  The  last  words  were  addressed 
directly  to  Manning. 

"Not  if  my  friends  stand  by  me.  The  board  of 
supervisors  will  meet  in  September,  and  they  will  select 
the  grand  jurors.  We  must  bear  this  meeting  in  mind, 
and  see  that  proper  men  are  selected.  Squire,  you  can 
help  in  this  matter." 

"  Why,  you  see,"  said  the  Squire,  speaking  in  very 
low  and  impressive  tones,  "you  see  my  position  as  a 


392  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

judge  requires  me  to  be  very  circumspect  in  what  I  do 
and  say,  lest  the  judiciary" — he  paused  for  a  moment 
to  emphasize  the  statement — "  I  repeat  it.  lest  the  judi 
ciary  be  brought  under  reproach.  The  people  have  a 
right  to  have  their  cases  tried  before  the  officers  elected 
for  that  purpose ;  and  if  I  take  too  active  a  part  in 
these  prosecutions,  people  might  charge  me  with  preju 
dice  and  unfairness.  You  see  how  it  is,  Manning. 
I  'm  down  on  those  fellows,  but  the  good  name  and 
fame  of  the  bench  require  me  to  curb  my  personal 
feelings." 

Now  the  Squire  thought  more  than  he  said.  He 
had  been  chagrined  because  the  saloon-keepers  had 
taken  a  change  of  venue  from  him,  and  had  made  some 
statements  on  the  streets  which  he  would  now  gladly 
recall,  if  possible.  "These  fellows  have  votes,"  he 
thought,  "  and  they  vote  !  Ingleside,  bear  that  in  mind 
— they  vote !  They  never  miss  an  election!  Better  to 
stifle  personal  resentment  for  the  public  good  !  Now, 
if  my  many  disinterested  friends  should  want  to  run 
me  for  the  senate,  or  even  to  force  upon  me  another 
term  as  justice  of  the  peace,  and  Holly  and  the  rest  of 
them  should  work  against  me — whew !  the  fur  would 
fly!  But  I '11  not  put  it  on  that  ground  to  Manning. 
I  '11  tell  him  that  my  reputation  for  fairness  as  a  judge 
is  at  stake,  and  that  I  ought  not  to  be  an  open  partisan 
of  either  faction.  But  I  hope  he  '11  flay  these  lying 
saloon-keepers  alive  !  The  scoundrels  !  " 

"Do  what  you  can,  then,  quietly,"  urged  Manning. 
"  Let  us  bring  these  fellows  to  justice.  I  think  I'll 
have  them  arrested  for  a  conspiracy  to  run  off  witness 
es,  and  thereby  defeat  the  administration  of  the  law. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  they  are  guilty,  and  that  Saw- 
theaire  and  Trinkenviellager  are  their  confederates  in 
crime.  Sawtheaire  had  no  business  at  Holyterror  on 
the  day  of  the  trial.  Neither  had  the  Mayor." 

"Understand  that  I  am  with  you,"  insisted  the 
Squire.  "I'm  here  to  tell  what  I  have  heard,  and 
give  you  such  points  and  advice  as  I  can.  You  remem- 


DELIBERATION.  393 

her,  Manning,  the  day  when  Anderson   was   released 
from  jail  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  remember  the  day  and  circumstance." 

"The  next  day  the  saloon-keepers  met  in  the  room 
back  of  Holly's  saloon,  and  concocted  their  conspir 
acy." 

"Hatched  their  conspiracy,  Squire,"  suggested 
Haynes.  "  Use  words  a  common  man  can  under 
stand." 

' '  All  right,  I  '11  say  hatched.  You  know  Benny 
Archer,  I  suppose,  Manning  ?  Well,  this  boy  had 
crawled  into  that  room  through  the  window,  for  no 
pious  purpose,  I  suppose,  and  was  prowling  around 
among  some  old  barrels  in  one  corner  of  the  room, 
when  he  heard  some  one'opening  the  door.  He  squat 
ted  down  behind  the  barrels,  and  sat  there  like  a  cat 
watching  for  a  mouse,  and  heard  the  whole  conversation. 
Never  mind  now  how  I  got  onto  it,  as  the  saying  is.  I 
got  onto  it,  and  that 's  enough  for  you  to  know  at  pres 
ent.  They  agreed  to  run  off  all  the  witnesses  they 
could  n't  hire  to  perjure  themselves.  It 's  a  diabolical 
piece  of  business,  I  tell  you,  and  must  be  handled  with 
care.  Sawtheaire  's  mixed  up  in  it,  and  the  case  will 
have  to  be  disposed  of  before  he  comes  into  office." 

"  Can  that  be  done?  "  inquired  Spence. 

"  Sawtheaire  will  take  the  reins  in  December,  and 
the  October  term  of  court  will  be  your  only  chance. 
Of  course  they  will  kick  like  steers  to  get  a  continu 
ance,  should  they  be  indicted." 

"  Will  Benny  Archer  testify  ?  "  asked  Manning. 

"  I  think  he  will.  He  has  told  me  the  whole  story. 
You  see  he  was  sawing  wood  for  me  the  last  day  of  the 
trial,  and  we  were  talking  about  the  trial  when  he  made 
this  remark:  'I  knowed  Mr.  Manning  wouldn't  get 
his  witnesses.'  Then  I  began  on  him.  He  tried  to 
explain,  to  dodge,  to  take  back  what  he  had  said,  but 
I  froze  to  him,  or  more  properly  speaking,  stuck  to 
him,  for  it  was  mercilessly  hot,  and  finally  wormed  the 
facts  out  of  him.  The  boy  probably  went  into  the 


394  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

room  to  steal  anything  he  could  find  and  carry  away, 
and  he  was  very  shy  about  admitting  what  he  knew. 
After  he  had  told  me  the  whole  story,  I  warned  him 
to  keep  still,  and  tell  the  truth  when  brought  into 
court,  or  I  'd  have  him  in  the  penitentiary,  and  prom 
ised  to  keep  him  out  of  that  place  if  he  obeyed  me. 
The  boy  has  worked  for  me  a  good  deal,  and  has  a 
wholesome  fear  of  me.  He  has  an  idea  that  I  run 
the  whole  State.  I  got  his  brother  out  of  an  ugly 
scrape  one  time,  and  you  can  depend  on  it,  he  swears  by 
me.  He  '11  testify,  without  doubt.  But  you  '11  need 
a  little  corroboration.  We  can  prove  by  Haynes  that 
Holly  furnished  the  money — put  it  into  the  constable's 
hands  to  pay  the  fines  of  the  witnesses  who  were  at 
tached.  That's  so,  isn't  it,  Haynes?" 

Haynes  nodded  an  affirmative. 

"  And  Spence  knows  something  to  your  advantage. 
That 's  the  reason  I  asked  him  to  meet  us  here.  Speak 
for  yourself,  Spence." 

' '  Well,  it  can  be  proved  that  Jake  Grimes  carried 
the  news  to  Sawtheaire  and  the  Mayor  last  Wednesday 
that  attachments  were  out  for  them  and  the  case  con 
tinued,  and  that  he  was  sent  for  that  purpose  by  the 
saloon-keepers.  Jake  met  the  missing  gentlemen  at 
Holytcrror  that  day,  and  had  a  talk  with  them.  The 
result  was  that  they  took  the  first  train  that  would  bear 
them  out  of  the  county.  It  was  after  dark  when  Jake 
got  back.  He  went  immediately  to  Holly's  saloon. 
Holly  admits  that  he  hired  Jake  to  go  to  Holyterror, 
but  claims  he  sent  the  lad  on  legitimate  business." 

"With  such  evidence,"  Manning  said,  looking 
thoughtfully  at  the  Squire,  "we  ought  to  get  an  in 
dictment,  and  can,  unless  the  grand  jury  is  packed  in 
favor  of  the  criminals.  But  I  don't  want  to  wait  till 
the  sitting  of  court.  I  want  to  begin  now.  These 
men  have  crushed  and  blighted  hearts  enough  already, 
and  I  do  n't  want  to  give  them  any  unnecessary  lease 
of  power.  I  believe  I  '11  have  them  arrested  and  held 
to  bail  before  a  justice  of  the  peace." 


DELIBERATION.  395 

"Won't  that  be  hazardous?"  inquired  the  Squire. 

"  I  don't  know.  We  will  force  them  to  a  hearing, 
or  to  give  bail  without  hearing.  That  will  be  a  begin 
ning." 

' '  But  you  will  give  them  the  advantage  of  learning 
what  your  evidence  is  and  preparing  to  meet  it. " 

"That  is  true.  But  much  depends  on  this  boy, 
Benny  Archer.  He  is  likely  to  tell  what  he  knows 
now.  He  may  change  his  story  by  October.  A 
thousand  things  may  happen  by  that  time  to  shake  his 
testimony.  But  if  he  swears  now,  he  dare  not  be 
bought  off.  My  voice  is  for  immediate  war." 

"What  will  you  do  for  a  court  ?  "  asked  the  Squire. 
'. '  I  could  n't  try  the  case,  even  if  the  defendants  were 
willing,  for  I  have  both  formed  and  expressed  an 
opinion.  You  dare  not  take  the  case  before  Twinkle. 
If  you  commence  before  the  police  magistrate,  they 
will  take  a  change  of  venue,  and  the  case  will  then  go 
before  Twinkle.  You  can  't  have  a  jury  in  a  case  of 
this  kind.  So  you  see  the  case  is  destined  to  go  before 
Twinkle,  and  that  means  certain  defeat." 

"I'll  go  into  the  country,"  was  the  answer.  "I 
know  a  justice  out  there  who  does  n't  belong  to  the 
saloons,  nor  to  Squabble,  Wriggle  and  Dabble,  and 
where  a  change  of  venue  will  only  serve  to  take  the 
case  before  a  man  of  the  same  stamp." 

"Then  you  are  all  right." 

Manning  proceeded  to  prepare  the  complaint,  while 
the  other  gentlemen  left  the  office  and  went  about  their 
business.  When  the  complaint  was  ready,  the  attorney 
said  to  himself:  "  I  '11  see  the  State's  attorney,  and  take 
him  with  me  if  he  will  go,  and  I  '11  have  Squire  Clover- 
field  issue  the  warrant.  I  '11  take  my  witnesses  out 
there  without  subpoenas,  if  I  can.  Now  begins  a  war 
fare,  the  result  of  which  God  only  knows." 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE    CROWNING    CONSPIRACY. 

On  the  following  morning,  William  Manning  saw 
the  State's  attorney,  and  laid  before  him  in  detail  the 
history  of  the  conspiracy  for  which  he  proposed  to 
prosecute  the  saloon-keepers,  and  the  evidence  upon 
which  the  conspiracy  could  be  established.  He  stated 
that,  in  his  Opinion,  it  would  be  necessary  to  commence 
the  proceedings  before  some  justice  of  the  peace  in  the 
country,  over  whom  the  defendants  would  not  be  able 
to  exercise  any  improper  and  prejudicial  influence. 
Billy  Johnson  admitted  that  the  evidence  detailed  by 
Mr.  Manning  was  very  damaging,  and  concurred  with 
him  in  the  opinion  that  so  foul  a  conspiracy  should  be 
thoroughly  investigated  in  the  courts.  He  averred, 
however,  that  he  had  a  multitude  of  important  matters 
to  look  after,  and  would  not  be  able  to  give  attention 
to  this  particular  case  for  several  weeks.  He  said  he 
would  be  glad  to  have  Mr.  Manning  proceed  as  he 
might  deem  advisable,  with  the  understanding  that  any 
course  which  might  be  pursued  would  be  sanctioned 
by  the  State's  attorney. 

This  was  as  William  Manning  had  anticipated.  He 
knew  very  well  that  Billy  Johnson  was  not  burdened 
with  business,  else  he  could  not  spend  three  days  out 
of  every  week  in  hunting  and  fishing.  The  fact  is,  that 
as  Billy's  term  of  office  was  about  to  expire,  and  he 
was  a  prudent  and  cautious  man,  he  did  not  consider 
it  advisable  to  assume  the  responsibility  of  taking  the 
initiatory  steps  in  this  prosecution.  He  reasoned  to 
himself  that  he  might  want  office  again,  and  that 
saloon-keepers  and  their  partisans  had  the  right  to 
exercise  the  elective  franchise,  and  never  failed  to  ex 
ercise  that  right  for  their  friends  and  against  their 
enemies.  From  which  it  will  appear  that  the  State's 

396 


THE    CROWNING    CONSPIRACY.  397 

attorney  and  Squire  Ingleside  started  with  the  same 
premises  and  reached  the  same  conclusion  on  this  ques 
tion,  and  that  an  inordinate  desire  for  office  ties  the 
hands  of  many  a  good  man  who  would  otherwise  help 
to  bring  highly  exalted  violators  of  the  law  to  well 
deserved  punishment  for  their  crimes. 

Authorized  to  proceed  with  the  prosecution  by  the 
conservator  of  the  people's  rights,  Mr.  Manning  pre 
sented  his  complaint  to  Squire  Clover  field,  and  procured 
the  issuance  of  the  warrant.  On  the  morning  of  the 
following  day  the  saloon-keepers  were  arrested  and 
taken  before  the  magistrate  for  their  preliminary  hear 
ing.  They  took  with  them  Messrs.  Squabble,  Wriggle 
and  Dabble,  Mayor  Trinkenviellager  and  Lyman  Saw- 
theaire,  and  several  others  of  their  friends  and  com 
panions  ;  and  on  arriving  at  the  magistrate's  house, 
where  he  held  his  court,  found  Mr.  Manning  and  his 
witnesses  already  there,  waiting  for  the  examination. 
The  defendants  were  not  ready  for  the  hearing,  and 
after  a  great  deal  of  discussion,  which  developed  the 
fact  that  the  trial  would  be  characterized  by  heat  and 
feeling,  they  succeeded  in  obtaining  a  continuance  till 
the  following  week. 

At  the  time  to  which  the  hearing  had  been  con 
tinued,  the  individuals  already  mentioned,  and  many 
others  appeared  at  the  premises  of  Squire  Cloverfield. 
It  was  an  oppressively  hot  day>-  and  the  house  was  too 
small  for  the  crowd.  The  proceedings  were  therefore 
conducted  in  a  grove  in  front  of  the  Squire's  house. 
Some  of  the  crowd  engaged  in  smoking,  some  in  chat 
ting,  and  others  in  whittling.  The  Squire  came  in  from 
the  field  where  he  had  been  working,  and  without  the 
incumbrance  of  coat  or  vest,  and  with  sleeves  rolled 
up  to  his  elbows,  sat  down  at  his  table,  and  announced 
that  court  was  in  session,  and  that  all  "talkin*  an' 
smokin'  would  come  at  onct  to  a  dead  halt." 

Messrs.  Squabble,  Wriggle  and  Dabble,  having  as 
certained  that  no  advantage  would  be  gained  by  taking 
a  change  of  venue,  called  for  a  jury.  A  long  discus- 


A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

sion  followed  over  the  right  to  a  jury  in  such  a  case. 
Notwithstanding  the  plain  provisions  of  the  law  and 
the  well  known  practice,  Messrs.  Squabble,  Wriggle 
and  Dabble  contended  with  great  earnestness  for  the 
right  of  trial  by  jury.  But  Cloverfield  was  a  man  of 
good  judgment,  and  skeptical  as  to  the  sincerity  of 
these  three  lawyers,  and  finally  decided  that  the  de 
fendant  was  not  entitled  to  a  jury.  Mr.  Squabble 
manifested  his  intention  of  overriding  the  law  and 
intimidating  the  court  by  some  very  unflattering  re 
marks  concerning  a  judge  who  would  arbitrarily  de 
prive  a  defendant  of  a  right  which  had  been  secured 
to  the  people  since  the  days  of  Magna  Charta.  The 
Squire  considered  that  these  words  charged  him  with 
unfairness  and  arbitrariness.  He  arose,  strode  forward 
to  the  place  where  Mr.  Squabble  was  sitting,  and  seized 
that  distinguished  gentleman  by  the  coat  collar. 

"  See  here,  you  impudent  rooster,"  he  said,  "I'll 
let  you  know  that  this  yere  court  do  n't  have  to  purtect 
itself  by  fines,  nor  to  call  on  the  constayble  for  purtec- 
tion.  This  yere  court  purtects  itself.  D'  ye  hear  ? 
Sass  me  agin,  an'  I  '11  pitch  ye  astraddle  of  that  'ere 
picket  fence.  D'  ye  hear?"  At  this  point  in  his  ad 
dress,  the  Squire  shook  Squabble  as  a  dog  shakes  a 
rat,  warning  him  at  the  same  time  that  if  he  made  any 
resistance  there  would  be  "more  to  follow." 

Squabble  looked  up  at  the  towering  form  of  Clover- 
field,  who  stood  six  feet  four  in  his  boots,  and  was  ad 
monished  by  that  discretion  which  is  said  to  be  the 
better  part  of  valor  to  assume  a  more  humble  atti 
tude.  Besides,  the  Squire  in  grasping  the  offender's 
collar  had  inadvertently  taken  both  the  right  and  left 
lapels  together)  and  was  beginning  at  this  point  to 
tighten  his  grasp,  so  that  Squabble  found  his  supply 
of  oxygen  rapidly  becoming  decimated.  So  he  pro 
ceeded  to  gasp  out  a  disclaimer  of  any  intention  to  cast 
any  reflection  on  the  Squire,  and  to  declare  most  ear 
nestly  that  he  considered  that  honorable  court  both 
learned  in  the  law  and  scrupulously  honest, 


THE    CROWNING    CONSPIRACY.  399 

"We  have  perfect  confidence  in  this  court,"  said 
Wriggle,  arising  and  assuming  a  stooping  posture,  and 
twirling  his  cane  spasmodically. 

"Perfect  confidence, "  chirped  Dabble,  batting  his 
eyes  with  the  rapidity  of  a  humming-bird's  wings. 

The  Squire,  being  now  sufficiently  mollified  by 
these  assurances,  resumed  his  chair,  and  rolling  his 
sleeves  a  little  higher,  with  a  do  n't-ye-sass-me-agin  air, 
directed  the  attorneys  to  go  on  with  the  hearing.  It  is 
unnecessary  to  give  a  detailed  account  of  this  trial. 
Suffice  it  to  say  that  it  was  a  hard  fought  law-suit ;  that 
law  was  invoked  by  either  party  where  law  would  an 
swer  the  demands  of  the  occasion,  and  that  when  law 
failed,  recourse  was  jhad  to  those  tricks,  devices,  mis- 
statements  and  misapplications  of  the  law  known  by 
the  offensive  word  "pettifogging."  To  be  called  a 
"  pettifogger"  is  resented  with  indignation  by  all  law 
yers,  and  yet  lawyers,  with  rare  exceptions,  "pettifog" 
when  the  law  fails  them,  and  other  means,  whether 
fair  or  unfair,  will  serve  their  purpose.  And  so  every 
inch  of  ground  was  contested  by  Messrs.  Squabble, 
Wriggle  and  Dabble  ;  with  indifferent  success,  how 
ever,  for  the  Squire  solved  every  doubt  in  favor  of  the 
people,  and  even  went  so  far  as  to  announce  that  pre 
liminary  examinations  for  the  purpose  of  holding  sup 
posed  offenders  to  bail  were  governed  by  very  different 
presumptions  from  those  applicable  on  the  trial  of  an 
offender  under  indictment ;  that  in  the  latter  case  the 
presumption  was  that  the  parties  charged  v/ere  innocent 
till  they  were  proved  guilty,  but  in  the  former  case 
they  were  presumed  to  be  "  a  little  guilty  till  they  were 
proved  to  be  sum'at  innocent."  While  Squabble  took 
issue  with  the  Squire  on  the  latter  proposition,  he  was 
afraid  to  press  his  opposition  too  far,  after  having 
learned  experimentally  the  strength  of  the  Squire's 
fingers  and  the  difficulty  of  breathing  with  a  constric 
tion  about  the  neck. 

When  the  Squire  summed  up  the  case,  after  argu 
ment  by  the  attorneys,  he  decided  that  the  defendants 


4OO  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

should  give  bail  in  the  sum  of  one  thousand  dollars 
each  to  appear  at  the  next  term  of  the  circuit  court. 
The  bonds  were  made  out  and  signed,  the  court  re 
turned  to  the  field  and  the  crowd  to  the  city,  Manning 
highly  elated,  and  Messrs.  Squabble,  Wriggle  and 
Dabble  utterly  discomfited. 

That  night  Harvey  Holly,  August  Bechdold,  Ly- 
man  Sawtheaire  and  Mayor  Trinkenviellager  met  in 
the  room  back  of  Holly's  saloon.  It  was  evident  from 
their  anxious  looks  and  cat-like  movements  that  busi 
ness  of  importance  was  about  to  be  transacted.  That 
business  concerned  their  common  enemy,  William  Man 
ning.  On  this  young  man  and  the  disposition  to  be 
made  of  him  their  plotting  minds  were  focalized.  They 
agreed  that  something  must  be  done  to  free  themselves 
from  his  determined  grasp.  To  Lyman  Sawtheaire 
had  been  left  the  invidious  task  of  deciding  what  that 
something  should  be,  and  how  it  should  be  accom 
plished.  They  came  together  under  the  shadow  of  the 
night  to  hear  what  their  chief  had  to  say,  and  to  be 
drilled  in  their  respective  parts  of  the  tragedy. 

William  Manning  had  been  disliked  by  the  saloon 
keepers  from  the  beginning.  It  did  not  take  these 
men  long  to  distinguish  between  their  friends  and  their 
foes.  In  the  first  place,  Manning  had  shunned  their 
places  of  business  as  he  would  a  house  of  pestilence. 
He  had  never  been  known  to  stand  at  their  bars  either 
to  treat  or  be  treated.  This  fact,  in  their  estimation, 
marked  him  at  once  and  unmistakably  as  arrayed 
with  the  hostile  forces  against  them.  As  city  attorney 
he  had  prosecuted  them  vigorously  and  relentlessly. 
Recently  he  had  espoused  Mrs.  Anderson's  cause  in  the 
civil  damage  suit,  which  had  resulted  in  their  defeat 
after  a  sharply  contested  trial.  In  the  argument  of  the 
case  he  had  denounced  and  excoriated  them  mercilessly. 
Their  hatred  toward  him  had  grown  stronger  and 
stronger  as  from  time  to  time  and  in  a  variety  of  ways 
he  had  sought  to  interfere  with  their  business,  unti), 
even  before  the  hearing  at  Squire  Cloverfield's  premises, 


THE    CROWNING   CONSPIRACY.  40! 

a  venomous  and  murderous  feeling  had  taken  posses 
sion  of  them  against  this  disturber  of  their  peace.  If 
anything  further  had  been  required  to  ripen  this  feeling 
into  a  willingness  to  become  murderers  in  fact,  the  last 
hearing,  and  the  unfolding  of  the  evidence  against  them 
in  Manning's  power,  was  amply  sufficient  for  that  end. 
They  now  hated  him  intensely.  The  fully  developed 
malice  of  the  murderer  was  in  their  hearts.  They 
sought  for  an  opportunity  to  become  murderers  in  fact 
as  well  as  in  thought. 

Lyman  Sawtheaire  was  ready  to  create  for  them  the 
desired  opportunity.  He  was  ready  to  engage  in  any  con 
spiracy  which  might  promise  to  remove  this  rival  from 
his  pathway.  He  had  been  triumphant  in  the  conven 
tion,  it  is  true,  but  even  there,  owing  to  the  opposition 
of  his  enemy,  he  had  been  forced  to  resort  to  gross 
fraud  and  villainy  to  achieve  success.  Manning  had 
given  him  trouble  and  anxiety  at  every  turn  during  this 
long,  heated  campaign,  had  exposed  his  hypocrisy,  had 
unfolded  his  real  character,  had  almost  succeeded  in 
the  convention.  But,  worst  of  all,  he  was  now  engaged 
in  the  prosecution  of  the  saloon-keepers  on  a  most 
serious  charge,  and  was  even  threatening  to  involve  the 
mayor  of  Wellington  and  the  prospective  State's  attor 
ney  of  Callitso  County  in  their  conspiracy. 

For  all  these  acts  Sawtheaire  hated  Manning.  Be 
sides,  he  had  a  wholesome  fear  for  the  future.  If  an  in 
dictment  should  be  preferred  and  a  trial  had  at  the 
October  term,  even  though  he  himself  might  not  ap 
pear  in  the  role  of  a  defendant,  nevertheless  the  de 
velopments  might  be  such  as  to  defeat  him  at  the  polls 
in  November.  It  seemed  to  be  necessary,  therefore, 
that  Manning  should  be  put  where  he  could  do  no 
harm — "  under  the  daisies, "  Sawtheaire  said,  and  smiled 
grimly.  "The  lips  of  a  dead  man  are  effectually  closed," 
he  thought.  "Therefore,  the  lips  of  Manning  must  be 
closed,  and  closed  in  that  effectual  way.  This  is  the 
only  road  to  safety.  With  this  curse  removed,  I  am 
safe.  I  can  then  win  the  affections  of  Miss  Katie.  There 


4O2  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

will  be  nothing  to  impede  my  progress — absolutely 
nothing.  No,  hold  on,  Sawtheaire,  there  is  that  she- 
devil  Oakford  !  She  will  stand  in  the  way,  perhaps.  No, 
I  swear  by  the  gods  of  Olympus,  nothing  shall  stand 
in  my  way!  And  whatever  gets  in  my  way,  animate 
or  inanimate,  male  or  female,  must  perish !  Let  the 
world  be  ruined,  if  only  Sawtheaire  can  rule  and 
reign."  During  these  reflections  he  sat  there  in  the 
room  back  of  Holly's  saloon,  as  cold  and  unmoved  as  a 
bloodless  demon. 

The  fourth  man  of  the  group,  Mayor  Trinkenviel- 
lager,  being  a  saloon  advocate  of  the  most  unreasonable 
species,  hated  any  man  or  woman  who  was  opposed  to 
the  liquor  traffic.  The  last  prosecution  of  the  saloon 
keepers  had  multiplied  his  venom  against  Manning 
indefinitely,  and  it  was  thought  by  Sawtheaire  and 
Holly  that  the  Mayor  could  be  safely  taken  into  their 
confidence  in  the  dangerous  plot  about  to  be  projected. 
It  was  thought  that  Bechdold  could  be  trusted,  and  that 
his  purse  might  be  needed  before  the  transaction  could 
be  brought  to  a  safe  conclusion.  So  he  was  honored 
with  an  invitation  to  this  conference,  while  the  other 
saloon-keepers,  because  of  their  garrulousness  and  im 
becility  and  scrupulousness,  were  passed  by  as  unfit 
to  be  trusted  with  so  serious  a  secret. 

"This  is  important  business,"  said  Sawtheaire, 
after  the  door  between  the  room  and  the  saloon  had 
been  closed  and  bolted.  "I,  for  one,  do  not  propose 
to  have  any  eavesdroppers  here,  be  they  large  or  small, 
friendly  or  unfriendly,  good,  bad  or  indifferent.  If  I 
had  been  with  you  the  other  time,  Holly,  I  would  have 
smelled  out  and  fired  out  that  rat,  Benny  Archer,  and 
you  fellows  would  n't  now  be  under  bonds  to  appear  at 
the  next  term  of  the  circuit  court." 

"You  mean,  Sawtheaire, "  said  Holly,  with  a  sardonic 
smile,  ' '  that  you  would  be  under  bonds  with  us,  you  and 
the  Mayor  there,  as  you  both  ought,  in  justice,  to  be." 

Sawtheaire  shook  every  barrel  in  the  room  to  ascer 
tain  whether  it  was  a  hiding  place  for  flesh  and  bones, 


THE    CROWNING    CONSPIRACY.  403 

and  searched  every  nook  and  cranny  where  even  a 
mouse  might  be  concealed,  and  having  found  no  spies 
in  the  room,  returned  to  his  chair.  The  blinds  had 
bssn  closed  and  the  windows  had  been  curtained  and 
fastened.  Every  precaution  had  been  taken  to  guard 
against  discovery  or  interruption.  A  tallow  candle 
placed  on  a  rickety  table  gave  a  dim  and  uncertain 
li  *ht,  and  as  these  men  drew  together  near  the  center 
of  the  room,  and  the  feeble  light  played  fitfully  upon 
their  faces,  they  looked  like  demons  from  the  under 
world.  And  such  they  were  in  thought  and  purpose, 
as  the  sequel  will  show. 

"Now,  boys,"  said  Sawtheaire,  in  a  smooth,  low, 
villainous  whisper,  "this  meeting  means  business. 
Let  us  understand  that  at  the  start.  When  we  came 
here  to-night  we  crossed  the  Rubicon.  Let  us  under 
stand  that  we  have  undertaken  a  dangerous  task;  it 
may  turn  out  all  right,  or  bring  us  to  the  halter.  If 
any  man  here  hasn't  the  grit  or  nerve  to  stand  by  this 
job,  let  him  say  so  now.  Death  will  be  the  penalty  of 
treachery." 

There  was  no  answer ;  but  the  faces  there  showed 
no  sign  of  irresolution. 

' '  Let  us  swear  that,  come  what  may,  we  will  stand 
together,  and  die  with  our  lips  sealed  rather  than  betray 
one  another." 

The  oath  was  solemnly  taken  by  each  of  the  four. 

"  Manning  must  be  put  oat  of  the  way,"  said  Saw 
theaire  in  the  same  low  whisper.  He  paused.  Noth 
ing  was  heard  save  the  breathing  of  the  men,  the 
ticking  of  their  watches,  and  an  occasional  sputtering  of 
the  candle. 

' '  With  Manning  out  of  the  way,  you,  Holly,  and 
you,  Bechdold,  need  not  go  to  the  penitentiary.  With 
Manning  in  the  way,  here  to  fight  you,  to  prosecute 
you,  you  may  —  yes,  you  probably  will  —  go  to  the 
penitentiary.  Do  you  understand?" 

They  signified  their  appreciation  of  what  had  been 
said  by  nodding  their  heads. 


404 


A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 


"The  prosecution  of  this  suit  will  compromise  the 
Mayor  and  myself,  and  ruin  us,  even  if  we  are  not 
actually  taken  in  the  toils.  We  can  beat  this  case  in 
the  grand  jury,  throttle  it  effectually  right  there,  if  we 
do  n't  have  Manning  to  fight  us.  Now,  what  do  you 
say,  Holly?  What  must  be  done?" 

There  was  no  answer.  The  minds  of  the  four  were 
at  an  agreement,  but  their  lips  hesitated  to  articulate 
the  dreadful  words. 

' '  What  do  you  say,  Holly  ?     What  must  be  done  ?" 

Another  pause.  Then  a  low  whisper  from  the 
saloon-keeper :  "  He  must  be  put  out  of  the  way." 

A  sudden  noise  like  the  rattling  of  bottles  came 
from  one  corner  of  the  room,  and  the  conspirators 
started  up  from  their  chairs,  with  terror  in  their  faces. 
A  rat  ran  across  the  floor  and  disappeared  through  a 
hole  on  the  other  side.  With  a  feeling  of  relief,  the 
men  sat  down  again. 

"What  do  you  say,  Bechdold  ?  What  must  be 
done?"  asked  Sawtheaire. 

' '  Shust  de  same.  Holly  iss  right, "  answered  Bech 
dold. 

"Yah!  und  so  I  dinks!"  added  the  Mayor. 

"  Now,"  said  Sawtheaire,  "  we  have  all  agreed  that 
Manning  must  be  put  out  of  the  way.  That  is  a  mild 
expression.  There  are  no  harsh  words  in  it.  But  it 
means  a  great  deal.  Do  you  know  what  the  law  calls 
the  deed?  Mur-der!"  As  he  pronounced  the  word, 
Bechdold  and  the  Mayor  felt  a  shivering  sensation,  a 
creeping  of  the  flesh,  and  wished  they  were  at  home  in 
bed.  Holly  seemed  utterly  unmoved. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Sawtheaire,  "the  law  calls  it 
murder,  and  if  we  put  Manning  out  of  the  way  we  will 
be  murderers !  Do  you  understand  ?  We  must  not 
breathe  a  thought  of  this  meeting,  or  of  what  we  are 
going  to  do;  we  must  not  even  think  of  it  in  the 
presence  of  others,  lest  they  read  it  in  our  faces;  we 
must  plan  skillfully,  and  skillfully  execute,  unless  we 
want  to  thrust  our  necks  into  the  halter.  I  '11  be  State's 


THE    CROWNING    CONSPIRACY.  405 

attorney,  and  I  '11  manage  the  affair  all  right,  if  we 
keep  our  mouths  shut,  and  do  n't  give  ourselves  away. 
But  if  any  man  chirps,  I  '11  send  him  to  hell !  Do  you 
understand  ?  Now,  then,  some  one  tell  how  the  deed 
shall  be  done." 

"You  must  do  the  planning,  and  leave  us  to  do  the 
work,"  said  Holly. 

"Each  of  us  must  do  his  part  of  the  work,"  con 
tinued  Savvtheaire.  "I  can  furnish  the  plan.  I  have 
one  which  certainly  can  't  fail  us,  unless  we  make  some 
unpardonable  blunder."  This  cold-blooded  villain 
spoke  with  the  deliberation  and  ease  which  would  have 
characterized  his  words  in  refined  society.  His  three 
auditors  listened  to  the  unfolding  of  his  plot  with  deep 
est  interest. 

"Three  or  four  miles  south  of  Wellington  is  a 
swamp,  as  you  well  know.  You  know  how  the  road  is 
macadamized  for  half  a  mile  across  the  middle  of  the 
swamp.  On  each  side  of  the  road,  for  at  least  a  mile 
back  into  the  country,  the  ground  is  spongy,  marshy, 
covered  in  most  places  with  water,  and  in  all  places  with 
a  rank  growth  of  reeds  and  rushes  higher  than  a  man's 
head  at  this  time  of  the  year.  You  Ve  seen  the  place, 
Mayor,  repeatedly?" 

"Oh,  yah!" 

"A  fine  place  to  hide  in  on  a  dark  night,  isn't  it, 
Mayor?"  Savvtheaire  pinched  the  Mayor's  leg.  The 
latter  rolled  his  eyes  around  in  terror,  and  made  no 
answer. 

"This  swamp  is  an  admirable  place  to  lie  in  wait 
for  an  enemy/'  continued  Sawtheaire.  "  A.  little  dis 
agreeable,  perhaps,  on  account  of  slime  and  frogs,  but 
admirable  from  a  business  standpoint,  when  one  wants 
to  commit  the  crime  of" — here  he  paused  for  a  mo 
ment  and  a  grim  smile  played  doubtfully  on  his  face; 
then  he  went  on — "of  removing  your  enemy  out  of 
your  way  as  you  would  protect  yourself  against  a 
rattlesnake  or  mad-dog.  The  nearest  house  is  three- 
quarters  of  a  mile  away,  with  intervening  hills  shutting 


4o6  A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

off  all  view  of  this  lonely  spot.  It 's  a  better  place  by 
all  odds  than  the  woods  north-east  of  town.  -It 's  a 
better  place  for  hiding  in  case  of  interruption,  and  for 
the  concealment  of  your  enemy's  body.  Man  rarely 
penetrates  into  this  swamp.  Dead  horses  are  some 
times  dragged  there,  and  the  odor  of  decomposition 
will,  therefore,  attract  no  special  attention.  The  body 
can  be  dragged  some  distance  from  the  road,  and 
weighted  and  sunk  at  some  deepest  point.  We  are  rid 
of  our  enemy,  and  can  cheerfully  take  up  the  burden 
of  life  again." 

The  Mayor  shuddered  at  this  remark ;  for  the 
thought  of  the  decomposition  of  a  dead  body,  of  burial 
in  the  mud  and  water  of  a  swamp,  in  the  company  of 
frogs  and  snakes  and  other  loathsome  animals,  was 
altogether  unpleasant.  Sawtheaire's  statements  had  so 
jarred  his  nerves  that  he  would  even  now  have  retired 
from  the  conspiracy,  if  that  had  been  possible.  But 
Sawtheaire  had  said  that  treachery  would  mean  death  ; 
he  might  construe  a  mere  abandonment  of  the  enter 
prise  as  treachery.  While  listening  to  the  attorney's 
unfeeling  and  measured  words,  the  Mayor  fancied  his 
own  bloated  carcass  rotting  in  the  swamp  if  he  should 
even  so  much  as  indicate  disapproval  of  the  method  and 
place  of  burial  proposed.  So  he  glanced  fearfully 
around  him,  shuddered,  and  kept  silent.  But  Saw 
theaire's  quick  eyes  saw  the  Mayor's  movements,  and 
his  active  mind  at  once  divined  the  cause.  "I'll 
render  this  rehearsal  a  little  more  dreadful,  and 
strengthen  the  Mayor's  timid  heart  by  a  few  more  sug 
gestions  in  the  same  line,"  he  thought,  and  then  said 
aloud : 

"You  will  observe,  Mayor,  that  I  am  not  a  milk- 
and-water  man.  You  notice  that,  I  suppose.  I  judge 
you  fully  appreciate  the  fact.  When  I  put  my  hand  to 
the  plow  I  never  turn  back,  Mayor.  Do  you  see?  If 
a  man  turns  back,  he 's  a  traitor.  Do  you  under 
stand  ?  And  do  you  know  what  I  propose  to  do  with 
a  traitor  ?  I  '11  bury  his  old  treacherous  carcass  in  this 


THE    CROWNING    CONSPIRACY.  4O/ 

very  swamp,  and  let  it  rot  among  the  frogs  and  jack-o'- 
lanterns.  A  comfortable  bed  that  would  be,  with  the 
slime  and  lizards  filling  your  eyes  and  ears  and  chok 
ing  your  throat." 

"Mine  heavens  alive!"  cried  the  Mayor,  rolling 
his  eyes  in  direst  consternation.  "  I  feel  faint." 

' '  You  understand  there  is  no  backing  out,  eh  ? 
You  understand  that,  do  you,  the  Honorable  the  May 
or  of  Wellington  ?  " 

"  Py  gracious!  you  pet!  "  cried  the  Mayor,  drop 
ping  his  jaw.  "But,  Sawteaire,  I  cand  do  dat.  Never  ! 
I  kills  no  man.  Drag  him  into  dat  swamp — never  !  / 
bays  moneys.  You  kill  und  drag,  /die  of  scare." 

"Quiet  your  nerves,  you  old  coward!  You'll 
neither  have  to  kill  nor  to  drag  out.  It  would  be 
suicidal  to  put  a  craven  hulk  of  flesh  like  you  to  do  the 
surgeon's  or  the  undertaker's  part  of  this  job.  You  'd 
give  the  whole  thing  away  by  your  looks.  Your  part 
of  the  work  will  be  in  Wellington,  not  at  the  swamp." 

Thus  reassured,  the  Mayor  began  to  wear  again  his 
usual  stolid  expression. 

But  now  Bechdold,  beginning  to  see  somewhat  of 
the  outline  of  the  murderous  plot,  and  having  heard 
the  Mayor  exclaim,  "/  bays  moneys,"  became  himself 
seriously  alarmed,  even  to  the  manifestation  of  consid 
erable  excitement. 

"Vat  you  say,  hey?"  he  asked  in  a  loud  voice. 
Before  he  could  say  anything  further,  Sawtheaire's 
hand  was  clapped  over  the  offending  mouth  with  such 
force  as  to  throw  the  German's  head  against  the  back 
of  his  chair. 

"You  old  fool!"  said  Sawtheaire  in  an  intense 
whisper.  "Another  such  an  explosion  of  sound  as 
that,  and  I  '11  have  you  carried  away  from  here  in  a 
barrel.  Do  you  want  to  bring  the  police  down  upon 
us?" 

"Vat  you  say,  hey?'J  persisted  the  German,  but 
this  time  in  an  anxious  whisper.  ' '  Dis  jop  vill  cost 
some  moneys,  hey?" 


4O8  A   SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"Yes,  it  will  cost  some  moneys,  hey!"  answered 
Sawtheaire  in  disgust.  ' '  But  what  of  that,  you  miser 
able  old  miser?" 

"You  preak  me  oop — you  preak  me  oop !  "  he  said 
in  agonized  tones.  "  I  go  to  jail,  py  gracious!  before 
I  lose  my  moneys." 

"  You  '11  give  up  part  of  your  moneys  before  you  '11 
give  up  your  breath,  I  hope.  See  here !  "  whispered 
Sawtheaire,  pinching  the  old  miser's  arm,  "do  you 
want  me  to  send  you  to  the  penitentiary?  Do  you 
want  me  to  choke  you  ?  Do  you  ?  " 

"  Ah-h-h  !  "  gasped  Bechdold.  "Take  mine  mon 
eys,  houses,  everyting.  Preak  me  oop  in  dis  deffilish 
jop.  I  'm  ruined — ruined !  " 

"Now  keep  still,"  said  Sawtheaire.  "  I've  some 
thing  more  important  than  your  moneys  to  talk  about. 
I 'm  the  architect  of  this  affair.  It's  my  business  to 
furnish  plans  and  specifications,  and  I  've  only  got  as 
far  as  the  place  and  the  manner  of  disposing  of  the 
body.  Now,  about  the  time.  The  sooner  the  better, 
I  say.  If  we  're  to  get  rid  of  our  enemy,  let  us  do  it 
before  he  gets  another  whack  at  us.  If  we  're  to  be 
hanged  for  it,  the  rope  won't  draw  any  tighter  now 
than  a  few  weeks  later,  and  this  is  a  nice  season  of  the 
year  for  a  quadruple  burial."  Here  Sawtheaire  paused 
for  a  moment,  evidently  enjoying  the  shock  such  ex 
pressions  gave  to  the  Mayor's  nerves.  The  latter  gen 
tleman  was  engaged  in  pulling  at  his  collar  in  an  ear 
nest  endeavor  to  free  his  neck  from  any  unpleasant 
pressure. 

"  We  must  certainly  have  a  dark  night,"  the  lawyer 
went  on.  "We  can  't  provide  for  rain  or  clouds,  but 
there  must  be  no  moon.  We  can  select  our  time  so 
as  to  guard  against  that.  A  dark  night  and  a  lonely 
place  for  a  murder,  always."  As  he  pronounced  the 
word  murder  his  voice  sank  into  an  almost  inaudible 
whisper.  "Then  we  must  get  Manning  to  the  right 
place  at  the  right  time  ;  and  let  me  tell  you  that  will  be 
no  easy  task.  Our  plans  may  be  ever  so  well  laid,  and 


THE    CROWNING    CONSPIRACY.  409 

yet  there  may  be  failure  here.  And  then  all  we  can 
do  will  be  to  take  a  new  start,  and  try  again.  You 
know  the  Scottish  bard  says, 

"  '  The  best-laid  schemes  o'  mice  and  men 
Gang  aft  a-gley.'  " 

"  Py  gracious!"  thought  the  Mayor,    rolling  his  ¥ 

eyes  in  wonder.  "Like  de  deffil  quotin'  de  Bible. 
Dat  oder  fellow  vat  wrote  blays,  he  say,  .'  He  smile  on 
dat  vile  he  kill.'  Dat  vas  Sawteaire.  Dat  boet  must 
o'  been  von  of  dese  tings — vat  you  call  'em  ? — vat  tells 
tings  before  dey  happen,  eh.  He  wrote  dat  for  Saw 
teaire." 

Sawtheaire  went  on : 

"Now,  I'll  begin  with  the  beginning.  We'll  fix 
an  early  date  for  the  time.  You  see  I  've  mapped 
this  matter  out  from  beginning  to  end..  We  '11  have  a 
moonless  night.  We  will  meet  in  the  Mayor's  office ; 
his  office  is  on  the  first  floor,  with  the  windows  in  the 
rear.  There  will  be  a  fifth  man  with  us.  Why  meet 
in  the  Mayor's  office  at  all  ?  To  arrange  for  an  alibi. 
Sam  Weller,  you  know,  has  shown  the  importance  of 
an  alibi.  We  must  take  care  to  be  seen  going  up  to 
the  Mayor's  office,  exhibit  ourselves  to  our  friends, 
say  something  they  '11  not  forget ;  if  any  especially  in 
teresting  event  has  happened  during  the  day,  say  some 
thing  about  that,  so  that  the  witnesses  will  remember 
time  and  circumstance,  and  corroborate  us  in  court 
when  we  swear  we  went  to  the  Mayor's  office  to  pre 
pare  for  the  trial  of  the  case  against  the  saloon 
keepers." 

"Sawtheaire,'7  said  Holly,  "you're  a  good  one. 
You  talk  like  a  book." 

"That's  the  advantage  of  being  a  lawyer,  and  un 
derstanding  the  requirements  of  the  alibi  dodge,"  re 
turned  Sawtheaire.  "  Bear  in  mind  that  each  of  us  must 
be  seen  as  often  and  in  as  many  places  in  Wellington 
that  night  as  possible,  so  that  we  can  prove  an  alibi  if 
this  affair  should  leak  out  on  us.  My  part  of  the  work 
will  be  to  get  Manning  out  to  the  right  place  at  the 


4IO  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

right  time.  Then  the  Mayor,  Bechdold  and  I  will  re 
main  here  till  the  deed  is  done,  and  swear  that  the 
whole  crowd  of  us  was  in  the  office  all  the  time,  work 
ing  on  the  saloon-keepers'  case.  The  Mayor's  oath, 
fortified  by  his  position,  will  be  of  great  advantage. 
That  will  be  his  part  of  the  programme.  He  is  too 
large  and  too  easily  identified,  and  too  cowardly,  to 
make  it  safe  for  him  to  take  any  active  part  in  the  job." 

"  But  how  are  you  going  to  get  Manning  out  to  the 
swamp?"  asked  Holly,  deeply  interested. 

"  Leave  me  to  manage  that,"  was  the  answer.  "I 
can 't  give  you  all  the  particulars  at  present.  The  fact 
is,  I  do  n't  know  myself  yet  just  how  it  will  be  done. 
It 's  enough  for  you  to  know  that  Manning  will  be 
there  ;  that  if  one  plan  does  n't  appear  feasible,  I  '11  try 
another.  He  '11  be  on  hand  at  the  appointed  time,  if  I 
have  to  carry  him." 

There  was  silence  for  a  time,  each  of  the  conspira 
tors  being  too  deeply  engaged  with  his  own  thoughts 
to  speak. 

"Holly,"  resumed  Sawtheaire,  "you  and  the  fifth 
man  will  have  to  do  the  biggest  part  of  the  job.  We  '11 
put  you  out  at  the  rear  of  the  Mayor's  office,  and 
then  you  must  go  to  the  swamp  as  fast  as  your  legs 
will  carry  you.  Take  the  alleys  and  back  streets,  dis 
guise  yourselves  as  best  you  can,  avoid  meeting  people 
if  possible,  and  when  you  reach  the  swamp,  hide  in  the 
rushes  and  reeds  till  you  hear  Manning  coming.  You 
must  do  your  work  quickly.  He  may  be  armed.  Fire 
arms  won't  do,  unless  you  are  absolutely  forced  to  use 
them.  Crack  him  over  the  head  with  a  bludgeon.  If 
the  first  blow  doesn't  do  the  work,  hit  him  again. 
Do  n't  spare  muscle  or  club.  Do  your  work  quickly, 
and  make  sure  of  it.  Drag  him  into  the  swamp  away 
from  the  road,  and  then  fly  for  the  city.  We  will  let 
you  in  at  the  back  window  of  the  office,  our  conference 
will  break  up,  and  we  will  go  out  on  the  streets  and 
mingle  freely  with  the  people." 

"This  is  a  dangerous  piece  of  business, "  said  Holly. 


THE    CROWNING    CONSPIRACY.  41  I 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Sawtheaire,  "unless  we  make 
fools  of  ourselves." 

"That 's  true  enough  as  far  as  you  fellows  are  con 
cerned.  But  how  about  me  and  the  fifth  man?  Man 
ning  will  be  a  match  for  both  of  us  in  a  square  fight. 
He  '11  die  game.  One  or  both  of  us  may  get  daylight 
punched  out  of  us,  and  be  dragged  into  the  swamp 
ourselves." 

"You're  not  afraid,  are  you?"  asked  Sawtheaire 
very  mildly,  for  he  knew  well  enough  when  to  bully 
and  when  to  defer. 

"  Do  I  look  like  a  man  who  is  afraid?  " 

"  No,  you  do  not." 

"Then  don't  throw  out  any  insinuations  of  that 
kind.  I  'm  merely  counting  the  dangers — calculating 
the  chances — all  of  which  comports  with  the  most  un 
flinching  bravery.  But  what  about  Manning's  horse?" 

"Let  it  go.  That's  all  you  can  do.  It  will  come 
back  to  the  stable.  Of  course  the  arrival  of  the  rider 
less  horse  will  rouse  inquiry,  but  that  can  't  be  helped. 
That  must  occur  sooner  or  later.  We  can  't  do  a  job 
of  this  kind  with  perfect  safety.  We  have  to  take 
some  chances.  It 's  better  to  take  chances  here  than 
to  go  to  the  penitentiary.  We  have  got  in  too  deep 
to  retreat  now.  Holly,"  continued  Sawtheaire  looking 
that  man  squarely  in  the  face,  "  our  necks  will  depend 
on  your  coolness  and  judgment.  You  have  sense  and 
nerve.  I  'm  not  afraid  to  trust  you.  You  will  have  to 
be  governed,  to  a  great  extent,  by  circumstances  at  the 
time.  Don't  get  excited.  Use  your  best  judgment. 
Acquit  yourself  like  a  steady-nerved,  level-headed  fel 
low  as  you  are,  and  this  night's  work  will  remain  a 
mystery  for  all  time,  except  to  us  five." 

"You  haven't  assigned  Bechdold's  part  yet,"  sug 
gested  Holly. 

"I'll  do  that  now.  He  must  furnish  the  money. 
If  he  was  n't  such  a  wretched  miser,  I  'd  make  the 
Mayor  bear  part  of  the  expense.  But  I  Ve  made  up 
my  mind  that  Bechdold  shall  furnish  it  all." 


412  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"Oh,  mine  heavens  alive !"  groaned  the  miser. 
"  Mit  rags  I  die — mit  rags  I  die  !  I  gif  one  fourt',  no 
more.  Not  anoder  cent." 

"You'll  give  it  all,  Bechd old,"  said  Sawtheaire, 
bending  threateningly  towards  him.  "You'll  give  it 
all.  Do  you  hear  me?" 

"Oh,  no,  no!"  he  said.  "I  gif  my  part.  Don't 
rob  an  old  man,  shentlemens."  As  he  saw  no  evidence 
of  relenting  in  Sawtheaire's  face,  he  went  on  :  "Come, 
shentlemens,  I  be  lipperal.  I  gif  half — half." 

"  You  '11  give  it  all,"  whispered  Sawtheaire  fiercely, 
his  temper  at  last  beginning  to  show  itself.  "Not 
another  word,  my  friend.  That  is  your  part  of  the 
job." 

"  What  do  we  want  money  for,  any  way?  "  asked 
Holly. 

"To  hire  help — perhaps  to  buy  witnesses — to  em 
ploy  lawyers.  We  '11  have  use  enough  for  money. 
The  old  man  will  have  to  shell  out  his  shekels  sooner 
or  later,  or  I  'm  no  prophet.  And  then,  if  anything 
should  be  left,  I  '11  use  it  to  pay  my  saloon  bills."  As 
he  said  this,  he  pinched  Bechdold,  who  responded  with 
a  groan. 

"  Now  one  more  question,"  said  Holly.  "It's  im 
portant  to  me,  and  I  want  it  answered  now,  Sawthe 
aire — now,  you  understand.  I  want  to  know  who  will 
be  my  help-meet  at  the  swamp.  Who  will  be  the 
fifth  man?" 

"Joe  Jimson,"  was  the  answer. 

"No!"  whispered  Holly,  utterly  surprised. 
"Why,  Sawtheaire,  are  you  in  earnest?  Do  you  want 
to  murder  me  ?  We  had  just  as  well  go  out  and  hang 
ourselves,  and  be  done  with  it,  as  to  undertake  such  a 
job  with  that  old  drunken  wretch." 

"You  shouldn't  speak  so  disrespectfully  of  your 
patron,  my  friend,"  replied  Sawtheaire  sarcastically. 
"I  wouldn't  call  him  a  drunken  sot,  if  I  was  in  your 
place.  If  Jimson  's  a  drunken  sot,  you  're  partly  re 
sponsible  for  it." 


THE    CROWNING    CONSPIRACY.  413 

1 '  When  I  want  a  preacher,  Mr.  Lawyer,  I  '11  get  a 
man  who  is  n't  as  big  a  devil  as  I  am  myself.  But  here 
— what  do  you  mean  by  choosing  Jimson  for  such  an 
important  post  ?  " 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  mean.  I  mean  to  get  a  man 
who  can  be  hired  to  commit  murder,  who  will  never 
give  us  away,  and  who  knows  how  such  a  deed  should 
be  done.  There  isn't  a  better  man  in  the  city  for  the 
purpose,  provided  he  is  kept  sober.  I  know  more 
about  Jimson  than  you  do.  This  won't  be  the  first  time 
he  has  helped  to  kill  his  man.  No,  nor  the  second 
time,  for  that  matter.  You  look  surprised.  You  have 
known  Jimson  as  a  drunkard,  but  have  never  suspected 
him  of  being  a  murderer.  That  is  the  best  of  recom 
mendations  for  one  of  his  profession.  He  knows  what 
he  is  about  when  he  covers  up  his  tracks  so  that  sus 
picion  never  lights  upon  him.  The  bones  of  two  men 
at  least  are  bleaching  in  wild  spots  in  Kentucky,  men 
who  fell  beneath  Jimson's  blows,  who  disappeared 
from  their  homes  and  were  never  heard  of  more. 
Jimson  will  obey  me.  Never  mind  how  I  got  my  in 
formation.  I  know  more  than  you  think  I  do,  not 
only  about  this  old  sinner,  but  also  about  others.  You 
can  trust  Jimson,  Holly.  He  's  the  very  man  you  want. 
No  passion  about  him,  but  business — a  pure  matter  of 
business.  He  '11  have  to  be  paid.  That 's  one  use  we 
have  for  money." 

At  the  last  remark  Bechdold  groaned.     Holly  said  : 

"Sawtheaire,  you're  the  devil  himself  turned  loose 
on  earth.  I  have  n't  a  doubt  of  it.  I  'm  mean  enough  ; 
but  it  would  take  ten  of  me  boiled  down  to  a  syrup 
to  make  one  of  you." 

"No  time  for  compliments,  Holly.  Let  us  sepa 
rate.  Remember,  we  are  to  meet  in  the  Mayor's  office. 
I  '11  give  you  the  time  in  due  season.  In  the  meantime, 
mum  is  the  word." 

One  by  one  they  glided  out  at  the  back  door,  and 
hastened  to  join  and  mingle  with  the  crowd  on  the  side 
walk.  When  they  chanced  to  meet  afterwards  they 


414  A   SUBTLE  -ADVERSARY. 

greeted  one  another  as  if  for  the  first  time  that  day. 
No  man  read  in  their  faces  any  suggestion  of  the  con 
spiracy  which  had  just  been  concocted — not  even  Man 
ning,  who  passed  them  on  the  street  on  the  way  from 
his  office  to  his  boarding-house. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

KATIE'S  GREAT  SACRIFICE. 

In  the  meantime,  William  Manning  and  Katie  Ander 
son  had  not  been  forgetful  of  each  other.  On  Man 
ning's  part  there  had  been  one  controlling  pur-pose,  and 
that  was  to  persistently  overcome  all  opposition  and 
win  his  loved  one  at  last,  with  the  consent  and  approval 
of  her  parents,  if  that  were  possible,  but  to  win  her  at 
all  events  —  against  the  parental  wishes,  if  their  consent 
should  be  resolutely  withheld.  Katie,  however,  was 
cognizant  of  certain  chapters  in  Manning's  life  of  which 
he  deemed  her  wholly  ignorant,  and  this  knowledge 
was  about  to  prove  a  more  formidable  obstacle  in  the 
way  of  her  lover's  success  than  the  unreasonable  oppo 
sition  of  her  father.  She  had  learned  of  the  existence 
of  a  maiden  called  Bessie  Lowell,  and  had  seen  Man 
ning's  arm  around  the  beautiful  girl  and  his  lips  pressed 
to  hers.  She  had  been  driven  to  madness  at  first  by 
this  incontrovertible  proof  of  her  lover's  duplicity,  and 
in  a  moment  of  utter  despair  had  thought  to  put  an 
end  to  her  existence  at  the  very  spot  where  she  had  re 
sponded  with  beating  heart  to  the  tender  voice  of  love. 
She  had  been  saved  from  the  consequences  of  her  sin 
ful  act,  had  been  snatched  away  from  the  judgment  bar 
by  the  very  person  whose  treachery  in  love  had  craz*ed 
her  brain  and  rendered  her  suicidal  attempt  a  possible 
thing.  After  it  was  all  over,  she  thanked  him  in  a  cer 
tain  sense  for  what  he  had  done.  Often,  when  left  un 
disturbed  by  conversation  or  presence  of  others  during 
her  convalescence,  she  lived  over  again  the  events  at 
Peoria,  the  long  and  dreary  days,  the  interminable 
nights,  the  blighting  and  burial  of  fondest  hopes,  the 
flight  towards  home,  the  murderous  act  at  Mossy  Bank; 
and  as  she  thought  of  what  might  have  been  but  for 
Manning's  timely  arrival — the  pall,  the  bier,  the  grave, 

415 


4l6  A  SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

and  above  all,  the  rendition  of  her  account  to  the  Great 
Judge — she  shuddered,  and  thanked  the  Lord  that  she 
still  lived  and  had  time  and  opportunity  for  repentance. 

And  yet,  upon  the  other  hand,  restoration  to  health 
and  strength  could  bring  no  hope,  but  only  the  absence 
of  hope,  and  the  prospect  of  a  lonely  pathway  through 
out  life.  To  her  the  flowers  would  never  again  seem 
so  fair,  nor  their  perfume  so  sweet ;  the  birds  would 
never  sing  so  happily,  nor  the  soft  evening  breeze 
awaken  such  tender  emotions  in  her  soul,  as  had  been 
the  case  during  the  cloudless  years  of  childhood,  and 
the  few  inexpressibly  happy  days  when  she  had  borne 
in  her  breast,  locked  up  there  from  the  scrutiny  of 
others,  the  sweet  consciousness  of  the  fact  that  she 
loved,  and  was  truly  loved  in  return.  Such  dreams  of 
happiness  were  passing  away;  yes,  they  were  gone 
now.  While  she  cherished  an  intense  desire  —  which 
was  not  a  hope,  but  a  mere  longing  of  the  heart  — 
that  all  these  clouds  would  be  swept  away,  she  saw 
not  the  slightest  reason  to  expect  such  a  happy  issue 
from  all  her  complicated  surroundings.  So  she  began 
to  plan  for  a  life  of  usefulness,  that  in  self-sacrifice 
she  might  seek  a  noble  and  exalted  mission  in  life.  At 
such  moments  she  was  very  brave  and  heroic,  and 
patient  and  resigned.  And  then  another  thought,  an 
other  feeling  would  gain  the  mastery,  and  she  would 
turn  her  face  to  the  wall,  and  with  the  tears  blinding 
her  eyes,  would  sob  as  if  reason  could  never  prevail  in 
the  struggle  over  the  heart. 

She  wondered  why  William  Manning  did  not  at  least 
come  to  inquire  how  she  was.  That  was  an  interest 
which  even  a  distant  friend  might  have  manifested  : 
much  more  was  some  such  solicitude  to  be  expected  of 
one  who  had  been  a  lover.  He  and  James  had  been 
growing  in  intimacy,  and  he  could  at  least  have  sent 
her  some  cheering  message  by  her  brother.  But  he 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  her  entirely.  It  is  true  she 
could  not  have  countenanced  any  acts  of  tenderness 
from  him,  for  she  had  lost  all  confidence  in  him  at  last ; 


KATIE'S  GREAT  SACRIFICE.  417 

but  it  would  have  been  agreeable,  nevertheless,  to  know 
that  the  loving  words  he  had  formerly  spoken  had 
been  from  the  heart  as  well  as  from  the  lips,  and  that 
he  had  not  been  utterly  unmindful  of  her  during  her 
sickness. 

One  day,  while  she  was  indulging  in  such  a  train  of  re 
flections,  and  her  mother,  who  was  able  once  more  to  go 
about  the  house  and  attend  to  her  domestic  duties,  was 
sitting  by  her  bedside,  engaged  in  sewing,  an  alarm  was 
heard  at  the  door.  Mrs.  Anderson  was  just  about  to 
lay  down  her  work  to  answer  the  ringing  of  the  bell, 
when  she  heard  footsteps  in  the  hall  and  the  sound  of 
two  voices.  Presently  Mr.  Anderson  came  up  the  stair 
way  and  looked  into  the  room,  and  asked  if  it  would  be 
convenient  for  Mr.  Manning  to  come  in  for  a  few 
minutes,  as  he  was  desirous  of  seeing  Katie,  and  find 
ing  out  how  she  was  getting  along.  Katie  demurred  a 
little — she  was  such  a  fright,  she  said,  and  still  had  some 
fever ;  but  Mrs.  Anderson  directed  her  husband  to 
bring  the  young  man  up  at  once. 

Thus  they  met  again ;  but  in  the  presence  of  the 
father  and  mother.  There  was  no  opportunity  for  a 
single  word  of  tenderness  or  explanation.  The  conver 
sation  was  upon  general  topics.  Henry  Anderson  was 
still  venomous  towards  the  caller,  and  would  not  have 
admitted  him  to  the  house  at  all  but  for  a  certain  sense 
of  obligation  arising  from  the  fact  that  the  object  of  his 
hatred  had  twice  ransomed  his  daughter  from  the  grave. 
He  considered  Manning  responsible  for  all  the  trouble 
of  his  family.  Manning  had  met  Katie,  contrary,  as 
they  both  knew,  to  his  express  commands,  on  that 
fatal  day  when  in  his  exasperation  he  had  struck  the 
girl. and  her  mother,  and  was  therefore  really  responsi 
ble  for  both  assaults.  Afterwards  Katie  had  left  home 
with  the  romantic  sentiment  of  a  child,  had  gone  to 
Peoria,  had  returned,  had  tried  to  take  her  own  life  in 
the  woods.  While  Manning  had  saved  her  from  death, 
yet  he  himself  was  responsible  for  the  series  of  acts  which 
rendered  such  a  salvation  necessary,  and  therefore 


41 8  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

could  not  justly  claim  any  merit  for  what  he  had  done. 
Anderson  could  not  see  his  own  wickedness  and  vio 
lence,  or  give  it  any  prominent  part  as  the  cause  of  the 
dreadful  record  of  the  past  few  weeks.  He  could  only 
acknowledge  that  he  had  acted  impulsively,  as  any 
other  good  man  would  have  done  under  like  provoca 
tion.  As  a  consequence,  it  was  as  much  as  he  could  do 
now  to  be  icily  civil.  Mrs.  Anderson  endeavored  by 
excessive  kindness  to  make  amends  for  her  husband's 
coldness,  but  with  indifferent  success.  All  four  of  them 
felt  ill  at  ease,  and  were  relieved  when  the  brief  call 
terminated. 

Manning's  pride  rose  all  around  him  like  a  Chinese 
wall,  and  made  him  more  distant  than  he  had  imagined 
he  could  possibly  be  towards  the  one  he  so  truly 
loved.  He  felt  that  her  father  hated  him,  and  that  he 
was  in  the  house  only  by  sufferance,  merely  because 
that  father  felt  under  obligations  to  him.  Had  he  not 
said  that  he  would  not  seek  to  use  his  advantage  for  the 
furtherance  of  his  suit?  Would  he  push  himself  into 
a  house,  otherwise  barred  against  him,  by  saying,  I 
have  saved  your  daughter,  and  can  hardly  be  refused 
admittance,  whether  my  presence  is  agreeable  or  not? 
So  he  gathered  his  pride  about  him,  and  his  words  and 
looks  were,  as  a  consequence,  cold  and  unsympathetic. 
His  iciness  chilled  Katie,  and  she  was  distant  in  return. 
When  they  separated,  they  were  farther  apart  than 
ever  before,  and  Katie  was  more  firmly  convinced  than 
she  had  ever  been  that  William  Manning's  affection 
was  for  Bessie,  and  not  for  her. 

At  the  time  of  the  primary  convention  Katie  had 
so  far  recovered  as  to  be  able  to  walk  about  the  house 
and  assist  her  mother  to  some  extent,  though  she  was 
yet  pale  and  weak  from  her  suffering  of  mind  and 
body.  As  her  strength  increased,  her  determination 
to  abandon  all  thought  of  her  unworthy  lover  became 
more  fixed.  The  headaches,  the  sleepless  hours,  the 
moments  of  irresolution  which  were  hers  during  all 
these  days,  can  never  be  described;  but  with  every 


KATIE'S  GREAT  SACRIFICE.  419 

new  day  she  saw  her  duty  more  clearly,  and  reso.  red 
more  earnestly  to  conquer  herself,  whatever  the  effort 
might  cost. 

Then  darkness  fell  upon  the  family  once  more — 
thick,  seemingly  impenetrable  darkness.  With  this 
sad  history  the  reader  is  already  acquainted.  Mrs. 
Anderson  stricken  down  by  her  husband,  and  that 
husband  under  bond  for  assault  with  intent  to  kill  and 
murder!  Then  wonderful  changes  as  accompaniments. 
James  aroused  into  an  aggressive  opponent  of  the 
saloons,  and  warring  against  them  as  the  ally  of 
William  Manning!  Henry  Anderson,  repentant  once 
more,  kind  and  tender  as  of  old,  but  utterly  cowed, 
housed  at  home,  while  conscious  of  the  fact  that  he 
was  being  disgraced  by  proof  in  opfcn  court  of  his  un 
natural,  beastly,  unprovoked  attack  on  his  loving  and 
patient  wife. 

Katie  indeed  had  learned  of  all  these  events  in  the 
order  of  their  happening.  She  had  learned  also  of  the 
growing  intimacy  between  her  brother  and  William 
Manning.  She  sought,  by  indirect  questions,  to  find 
out  what  the  latter  was  doing  and  how  he  was  succeed 
ing  in  his  business.  When  informed  of  the  manner  in 
which. he  had  discomfited  the  ablest  firm  of  attorneys 
in  the  city,  it  was  quite  natural  for  her  face  to  flush 
and  her  eyes  to  sparkle  with  momentary  joy ;  but  alas ! 
with  momentary  joy  only,  for  immediately  there  rose 
up  before  her  another  face,  another  form,  and  she  saw 
Bessie  resting  her  head  proudly  on  the  young  man's 
shoulder,  claiming  the  right  to  rejoice  at  his  success. 
And  then  the  sparkle  left  her  eye,  and  the  flush  re 
ceded  from  her  cheek,  and  poor  Katie's  face  was  left 
pale  and  wistful  and  sad,  and. yet  very  sweet  ;  for  it  was 
one  of  those  faces  which  are  sweet  under  the  shadow 
as  well  as  the  sunshine. 

But  Katie  never  approached  James  with  direct 
questions  concerning  William  Manning ;  and  if  he 
sought,  as  he  did  on  two  or  three  occasions,  to  interest 
her  in  his  young  friend,  and  to  provoke  her  to  speak  his 


42O  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

praises,  she  skillfully  turned  the  conversation  in  another 
direction,  and  left  him  wondering  what  manner  of 
woman  she  was,  and  whether  she  had  ever  really  cared 
for  Manning,  or  sustained  any  relation  towards  him 
other  than  that  of  ordinary  friendship. 

For  several  days  after  the  convention,  Henry  An 
derson  remained  at  home.  Indeed,  he  did  not  care  to 
show  himself  upon  the  streets  of  Wellington  till  after 
the  excitement  incident  to  his  wife's  law-suit  had  abated, 
and  some  fresher  event  had  become  the  theme  of  gen 
eral  conversation.  During  all  this  time  he  abstained 
from  the  use  of  strong  drink.  He  recovered  his 
geniality  of  disposition,  his  evenness  of  temper.  He 
was  kind  and  agreeable  to  his  wife  and  daughter,  but 
noticeably  cold  toVards  James,  whom  he  charged  with 
partial  responsibility  for  the  low  estate  into  which  he 
had  fallen.  Yet  it  was  thought,  if  the  father's  appetite 
for  strong  drink  could  be  controlled,  time  would  over 
throw  the  barriers  between  him  and  his  son,  and  effect 
a  complete  restoration  of  the  former  peace  and  happi 
ness  of  their  relations. 

One  night,  after  Katie  had  retired  to  rest,  her  mind 
refused  to  yield  to  the  dreamy  goddess,  but  she  lay 
awake,  wide  awake,  thinking  over  the  past,  as  she  had 
done  so  many  times  before,  and  vainly  striving  to 
reconcile  its  facts  with  the  possibility  of  future  happi 
ness.  She  was  now  at  that  age  when  a  young  woman 
of  ardent  temperament  and  imbued  with  religious  ideas 
is  inclined  to  feel  it  incumbent  upon  her,  at  the  behest 
of  duty,  to  make  some  great  sacrifice  for  the  good  of 
others.  So  to-night  Katie  began  to  think  of  martyrs 
and  martyrdom.  She  reviewed  the  list  of  Biblical  he 
roes  as  enumerated  in  the  great  epistle  to  the  He 
brews,  from  Abel  to  the  prophets,  who  through  faith 
had  subdued  kingdom?,  wrought  righteousness,  ob 
tained  promises,  stopped  the  mouths  of  lions,  quenched 
the  violence  of  fire  ;  who  had  had  trial  of  cruel  mock- 
ings  and  scourgings,  yea,  moreover,  of  bonds  and  im 
prisonment;  who  had  been  stoned,  sawn  asunder, 


KATIE'S  GREAT  SACRIFICE.  421 

tempted,  slain  with  the  sword  ;  of  whom  the  world  had 
never  been  worthy.  She  thought  of  Deborah,  the 
prophetess,  who  had  encouraged  Barak  to  go  down 
from  Mount  Tabor  with  ten  thousand  men,  and  discom 
fit  Sisera,  and  all  his  chariots,  and  all  his  hosts,  with 
the  edge  of  the  sword,  at  a  time  when  the  alien  power 
was  mightily  oppressing  the  children  of  Israel.  She 
thought  of  Joan  of  Arc  and  her  noble  self-sacrifice, 
which  had  brought  deliverance  to  her  people ;  of  the 
noble  hearted  women  who  had  imperiled  their  lives,  yes, 
had  even  sacrificed  their  lives,  that  wounded  soldiers 
might  be  cared  for  and  nursed  back  to  health  if  pos 
sible,  or  at  least  have  their  dying  couches  softened  by 
woman's  tender  ministrations.  And  then  she  thought 
of  the  present  and  its  monotonous,  uneventful  days, 
and  it  seemed  to  her  that  the  age  for  grand  and  heroic 
achievements  was  gone  forever.  There  was  no  great 
Neronian  persecution,  no  cataclysm  of  blood.  All 
things  had  been  tamed.  The  rattlesnake  had  been 
robbed  of  its  fangs  and  the  lion  of  its  claws.  The 
pestilence  had  been  shorn  of  its  strength,  and  the  in 
struments  of  war  had  been  converted  into  implements 
of  husbandry.  Opportunities  for  martrydom,  in  the 
heroic  sense,  were  gone,  all  gone.  And  so  Katie  turned 
her  thoughts  from  the  great  sacrifices  of  the  past  to 
little  sacrifices  possible  in  this  present  uneventful  and 
spiritless  era. 

There  was,  near  at  home,  a  sacrifice  she  might 
make,  under  such  conditions  as  to  save  one  whom  she 
loved  dearly  from  a  more  terrible  field  of  death  even 
than  the  bloody  battle-field.  Suppose  she  should  crucify 
her  love  on  condition  that  her  father  should  crucify  his 
appetite.  There  would  be  nothing  grandly  heroic  in 
that.  The  applause  of  the  world  would  not  be  her  re 
ward,  as  if  she  could  lead  a  host  to  victory  over  wrong, 
or  offer  herself  as  a  sacrifice  for  the  truth  on  blazing 
fagots  or  beneath  the  glittering  knife.  No,  the  world 
would  not  even  hear  that  she  had  made  a  sacrifice  at  all. 
And  yet  God  would  know  how  the  crucifixion  of  her 


422  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY*. 

love  would  lacerate  her  heart  like  the  spikes  in  the 
Saviour's  arms. 

Had  she  not,  in  her  infatuation  for  William  Man 
ning,  forgotten  the  divine  requirement  of  honoring  her 
father,  and  shown  herself  grossly  disobedient  to  his 
commands?  Had  not  the  sequel  demonstrated  that  her 
heart  had  been  false  in  its  judgment,  and  that  her  father's 
judgment  had  been  just?  Might  it  not  be  that  her  dis 
obedience,  her  clandestine  meetings  with  Manning,  her 
interdicted  correspondence  with  him,  had  brought  upon 
the  family  the  displeasure  of  Providence,  and  that  she 
must  ransom  the  peace  of  their  home  at  the  price  of 
her  unfortunate  love?  Why  not  make  the  sacrifice, 
inasmuch  as  she  had  already  resolved  that  she  could 
never  be  Mr.  Manning's  bride  ?  Why  hesitate  to  vow 
in  words  to  her  father  what  she  had  vowed,  though 
not  in  exact  terms,  to  herself?  She  would  have  given 
her  lover  a  pure  and  unsullied  heart — yes,  she  had 
given  him  that.  She  had  expected  as  much  in  return. 
He  had  deceived  her.  He  was  unworthy  of  her  love. 
She  would  make  the  sacrifice. 

With  such  thoughts  she  fell  asleep. 

She  surprised  her  father  the  next  morning  by  put 
ting  her  arm  around  his  neck  and  asking  him  to  take 
her  for  a  drive.  "It  is  such  a  lovely  morning,"  she 
said,  "and  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  a  certain  mat 
ter,  and  I  can  talk  better  riding  than  sitting  here  in 
the  house."  She  seemed  to  her  father  to  be  more  ten 
der  and  affectionate  than  she  had  been  since  the  differ 
ence  had  arisen  between  them  concerning  William 
Manning.  Her  outward  acts  of  affection  had  indeed 
continued  to  be  the  same;  but  the  "tender  grace" 
which  gives  to  every  such  act  its  real  significance  had 
been  missing  at  times  since  the  beginning  of  her  fath 
er's  unyielding  opposition  to  her  lover. 

Mr.  Anderson  said  he  would  gladly  take  her  out  for  an 
hour's  drive,  if  that  would  content  her,  after  which  he 
and  her  mother  would  take  exclusive  possession  of  the 
buggy  for  a  day's  jaunt  into  the  country.  "  We  '11  go 


KATIE'S  GREAT  SACRIFICE.  423 

into  the  neighborhood  of  our  old  home  once  more, 
Mary,"  said  he.  "I  want  to  see  how  the  place  looks. 
I  have  a  sort  of  yearning  for  the  old  farm,  and  wish  I 
owned  it,  and  was  living  there  this  very  minute.  I 
saw  Murphy  in  town  the  other  day,  and  he  made  me 
promise  that  we  would  come  and  see  him  soon.  We 
can  't  have  a  better  day.  So  be  ready  when  Katie  and 
I  get  back,  and  we  '11  try  our  luck  in  the  country  for  a 
few  hours. " 

Mr.  Anderson  and  his  daughter  were  soon  speeding 
along  the  highway  out  of  the  city,  enjoying  the  life- 
giving  air  and  the  beauty  of  this  fresh,  bright  day.  As 
Katie  approached  that  "certain  matter"  concerning 
which  she  had  intimated  a  desire  to  speak,  Mr.  Ander 
son  reined  in  his  horses  to  a  leisurely  walk,  as  being  a 
more  suitable  gait  for  so  important  a  subject. 

"  Father, "  began  Katie,  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you 
about  yourself  and  myself,  and  do  n't  want  to  give  you 
any  offense,  but  just  to  talk  like  a  girl  should  to  her 
dear  good  papa.  So  here 's  a  kiss,  first.  And  now  I 
want  you  to  promise  that  you  '11  not  get  offended  if  I 
should  happen  to  say  something  personal.  For  you 
know  I  can  't  talk  about  you  without  saying  something 
personal,  and  you  ought  to  know  that  I  won't  intend 
to  say  anything  to  wound  you,  however  my  words  may 
sound.  So  now  please  give  me  your  solemn  promise." 

"I  promise  you,  of  course,  my  child.  After  that 
kiss  you  shall  have  whatever  you  ask,  even  to  a  new 
silk  dress  and  a  great  large  ostrich  plume — anything 
short  of  a  genuine  sealskin  cloak."  In  the  exhilaration 
of  the  moment  and  a  sense  of  returning  manhood,  the 
father  felt  that  he  could  overlook  any  impropriety  of 
speech  or  unpleasantness  of  suggestion  from  his 
daughter. 

"It's  more  serious  than  silk  dresses,  father,  or  os 
trich  plumes  or  sealskin  cloaks.  And  yet  the  bargain 
I  want  you  to  make  with  me  will  not  call  for  the  out 
lay  of  money.  On  the  contrary,  it  will  help  you  to 
save  your  money." 


4^4  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

Henry  Anderson  began  to  see  where  the  conversa 
tion  was  drifting,  but  he  maintained  a  discreet  silence, 
though  Katie  had  paused,  evidently  to  give  him-  an  op 
portunity  to  speak. 

"  Well,  father,"  she  said  presently,  "  I  'm  going  to 
come  right  to  the  point.  You  know  I  am  opposed  to 
the  use  of  liquor  in  any  form.  You  used  to  call  me  a 
teetotaler.  And  you  know,  father,  that  you  dare  not  use 
it  for  any  purpose  at  all — you  know  that  from  experi 
ence.  So  you  ought  to  be  a  teetotaler.  If  you  touch 
it,  you  lose  control  of  yourself,  and  drink  until  you 
are  completely  under  its  control,  and  then  you  're  not 
yourself;  you  're  entirely  changed,  and  home  is  the 
most  miserable  place  in  the  world.  I  know  you  've 
promised  never  to  drink  again,  but  we  're  afraid, 
father ;  you  do  n't  know  what  a  dreadful  feeling  it  is. 
When  you  go  down  to  the  square,  mother  trembles, 
for  fear  you  '11  be  ensnared  again.  Such  anxiety  is 
telling  on  her.  She  has  double  the  number  of  gray 
hairs  she  had  when  we  left  the  farm.  And  you  look 
older — nearly  ten  years  older.  So  I  want  to  make  a 
bargain  with  you.  I  '11  do  something  you  very  much 
want  me  to  do,  if  you  '11  solemnly  promise  me  never  to 
touch  liquor  again  as  long  as  you  live." 

"And  what  is  it  that  I  want  my  little  girl  to  do  ?  " 
inquired  Mr.  Anderson. 

"You  know,  father,  that  Mr.  Manning  and  I  have 
— have  been — you  know  all  about  it,  father." 

"  About  what,  Katie?" 

"Why,  about  Mr.  Manning  and  me — you  know  we 
have  been — in  love  with  each  other?"  Katie  could 
not  help  blushing,  and  she  looked  exceedingly  lovely 
as  the  bright  flame  mantled  her  cheeks. 

"  I  do  not  know  it,  Katie.  I  have  strongly  sus 
pected  it.  But  I  would  suppose  that  you  would  have 
very  little  ground  for  love  in  that  direction  after  having 
read  those  two  notes  from  Miss  Bessie." 

"  You  don't  understand  girls,  father.  How  should 
you  ?  Sometimes  they  love  in  the  face  of  greater  diffi- 


KATIE'S  GRFAT  SACRIFICE.  425 

culties  than  this.  But  I  haven't  brought  up  this  sub 
ject  to  change  your  opinion  of  Mr.  Manning.  I  sup 
pose  I  could  n't  do  that  if  I  should  try  ever  so  hard.  I 
want  to  make  a  treaty  with  you,  and  to  confess  that  I 
have  been  naughty  and  disobedient,  and  to  say  that 
I  am  sorry  for  it.  I  want  to  promise  you  now  that  I  '11 
give  up  all  thought  of  Mr.  Manning,  if  you  '11  promise 
me  never  to  enter  a  saloon  or  take  another  drop  of 
liquor." 

"  But,  Katie,  I  might  have  to  go  into  a  saloon  on 
business.  A  grocer  must  go  there  to  collect  his  ac 
count,  or  an  expressman  to  deliver  express,  or  a  tele 
graph  messenger  to  deliver  a  telegram." 

"You  're  not  a  grocer,  you  're  not  an  expressman, 
you  're  not  a  telegraph  messenger.  You  do  n't  have 
to  go  there  at  all.  It  isn't  safe  for  you  to  go  there. 
You  think  I  'm  not  making  a  saciifice,  because  you  do 
not  understand  how  much  I  have  cared  for  Mr.  Man 
ning.  I  think,  if  you  knew  just  how  much  it  means  for 
me  to  make  my  part  of  the  agreement,  you  wouldn't 
hesitate  a  moment  to  make  yours." 

"Why,  certainly,  Katie,  I  can  make  the  promise, 
and  do  make  it  now.  It's  but  a  repetition  of  the 
promise  I  have  already  made." 

"But  I  want  you  to  feel  that  I  've  given  up  some 
thing  for  you,  and  that  will  make  the  promise  seem 
more  binding.  And  I  want  you  to  treat  brother  just 
like  you  used  to,  and  let  us  live  like  we  did  before 
any  of  these  troubles  came  upon  us." 

"I'll  make  the  promise.  'I'll  forgive  James — do 
anything — if  you  '11  never  give  me  a  moment's  trouble 
about  Manning.  He  is  unworthy  of  you,  and  always 
was.  It  was  for  your  good  that  I  opposed  any  match 
with  him.  You  will  yet  find  a  lover  who  will  deserve 
such  a  true,  good  girl." 

"  I  '11  never  love  again,  father." 

"Tut,  tut,  child.  That 's  what  they  all  say.  You  '11 
find  a  better  lover  than  ever  Manning  would  have 
been." 


426  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"  But  I  do  not  belong  to  the  impersonal  they,  "  she 
said.  "  /'//  never  love  another. " 

"  What  if  Mr.  Sawtheaire  should  be  willing  to  take 
Manning's  place?" 

"Father,  if  you  love  me,  never  speak  to  me  of 
that  man  again.  I  detest  Lyman  Sawtheaire !  Now 
that  I  have  given  up  Mr.  Manning,  I  hate  Sawtheaire 
more  than  ever.  I  'd  die  before  I  would  marry 
him!" 

"That  isn't  a  Christian  spirit,  I  am  afraid." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  she  said.  "  But  I  can 't  altogether 
control  my  feelings ;  for  I  believe  he  is  responsible — 
well,  never  mind  ;  it  is  done  now,  and  there  is  no  use 
in  saying  anything  more  about  it." 

Henry  Anderson  was  flushed  with  victory  as  he 
helped  his  daughter  out  of  the  buggy.  He  had  de 
sired  nothing  so  earnestly  as  to  break  up  this  love  affair 
between  her  and  William  Manning;  and  now  that  end 
had  been  attained  without  any  scene,  very  quietly  and 
pleasantly,  and  even  at  Katie's  own  suggestion,  and 
without  his  pledging  more  than  he  had  already  pledged, 
or  binding  himself  beyond  what  he  was  sincerely  desir 
ous  of  doing.  It  seemed  as  if  the  clouds  were  break 
ing  away  from  above  his  home,  and  the  blue  sky  was 
beginning  to  spread  its  peaceful  canopy  over  the  family 
once  more. 

Mr.  Anderson  assisted  his  wife  into  the  buggy,  and 
then  turned  and  addressed  Katie,  who  was  standing  by 
the  gate.  "Daughter,  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  your 
mother  and  I  have  planned  a  treat  for  you — something 
that  you  're  not  expecting.  It 's  a  new  prospectus  of 
the  Kentucky  trip,  and  will  be  this  time  mother  and 
daughter,  instead  of  brother  and  sister.  So  be  warned, 
and  get  your  wardrobe  ready.  With  your  mother's 
help,  I  '11  put  you  on  board  the  train  next  Monday. 
And  then  away  for  Kentucky  and  a  glorious  visit !  I 
almost  envy  you — would  like  to  go  with  you,  but 
can  't.  I  '11  keep  James  here,  and  we  '11  see  what  we 
can  do  in  keeping  bachelors'  hall." 


KATIE'S  GREAT  SACRIFICE.  427 

With  these  words  Mr.  Anderson  cracked  his  whip, 
and  drove  off  rapidly  in  the  direction  of  Mr.  Mur 
phy's. 

Katie  uttered  no  joyful  exclamation  over  the  pros 
pect  of  this  visit  to  Kentucky.  With  a  heart  half  re 
gretful,  and  as  yet  half  fired  with  her  self-sacrificing 
resolution,  she  v/ent  to  her  room,  and  wrote  the  follow 
ing  letter  : 

"  MR.  MANNING  : — For  reasons  which  it  would  be  painful  and  un 
profitable  to  communicate,  I  find  it  my  duty  to  myself,  as  well  as  to  my 
parents,  to  sever  our  engagement,  and  to  return  to  you  the  few  evidences 
of  it  in  my  possession.  I  beg  you  to  return  my  letters.  I  trust  you  will 
not  charge  me  with  deceit  or  duplicity,  but  put  as  charitable  a  con 
struction  on  my  action  as  you  can.  Be  assured  that  I  can  never  love 
again.  I  trust  that  your  life  may  be  happy,  and  that  success  may  ever 
attend  you  in  your  profession. 
"  Believe  me  ever 

"  Your  friend, 

"KATIE  ANDERSON." 

She  sealed  and  addressed  this  letter,  gave  it  to 
James  when  he  came  home  to  dinner,  and  asked  him  to 
deliver  it  to  Mr.  Manning.  James  at  once  launched 
forth  into  the  most  extravagant  praises  of  the  young 
lawyer.  He  thought  in  so  doing  he  would  give  Katie 
pleasure.  Every  word  of  praise  was  a  fresh  arrow  to 
her  soul ;  but  he  knew  it  not,  and  persisted  in  his  eulogy. 
He  said  Manning  was  the  purest  and  brightest  young 
man  he  had  ever  met ;  that  he  was  as  gentle  and  refined 
as  a  woman,  and  yet  as  bold  and  aggressive  as  a  lion ; 
and  that  there  was  not  another  young  man  in  the  whole 
State  to  whom  he  would  half  as  readily  intrust  the 
happiness  of  his  lovely  sister.  He  might  have  said 
much  more  had  he  not  noticed  a  suspicious  tremor  of 
that  sister's  lips,  which  indicated  that  she  was  a-bout  to 
burst  into  tears.  Wondering  what  he  had  said  to 
wound  her,  he  desisted  from  further  conversation,  and 
hurried  away  to  deliver  the  letter  to  Mr.  Manning. 

After  James  had  gone,  and  the  letter  was  beyond 
recall,  a  feeling  of  utter  desolation  swept  over  the  poor 
girl's  heart,  and  she  went  up  to  her  room,  and  wept  and 
moaned,  and  moaned  and  wept  again.  For  a  while  she 


428  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

forgot  Peoria  and  Bessie  and  those  mysterious  letters, 
and  reproached  herself  bitterly  for  breaking  one  vow 
that  she  might  make  and  keep  another.  Was  tlie  pledge 
she  had  made  to  her  father  any  more  sacred  than  the 
one  she  had  made  to  her  lover  ?  The  tie  which  had 
bound  her  to  William  Manning  had  been  broken  for 
ever,  and  her  fingers  were  responsible  for  the  awful  re 
sult  !  But  there  was  no  remedy  now.  All  was  over. 
She  must  suffer  in  silence — she  dare  not  speak.  If 
Mr.  Manning  had  broken  the  engagement,  he  might 
have  sought  her  with  explanations  and  apologies,  and 
obtained  her  forgiveness;  but  she  herself  had  severed 
the  tie,  and  under  the  rules  of  propriety  must  suffer 
and  endure,  and  die  perhaps,  in  silence  and  without 
sympathy.  If  she  had  spent  the  afternoon  by  her 
lover's  new-made  grave  her  grief  could  not  have  been 
more  bitter. 

And  think  you  all  was  tranquil  at  William  Man 
ning's  office  that  afternoon  ?  Upon  the  receipt  of 
Katie's  letter,  his  first  thought  was  that  the  delicate 
missive  must  be  the  bearer  of  good  tidings.  He 
opened  it  and  read  it  eagerly.  Then  his  joy  became 
sorrow,  his  hope,  despair.  James  had  left  the  office, 
and  no  human  eye  was  there  to  witness  his  paroxysm 
of  grief.  He  strode  up  and  down  the  room  like  a 
madman.  His  cheeks  flamed  and  paled,  and  then 
flamed  again.  His  eyes  became  hard,  even  inhuman, 
in  their  expression.  How  long  he  paced  the  floor  he 
never  knew.  It  seemed  to  him  like  an  age.  He  threw 
himself  at  last  into  a  chair,  dropped  his  arms  and  head 
upon  his  desk,  and  sat  there  silently  for  a  long  time. 
Finally  he  arose  and  unlocked  the  drawer  where  he 
kept  the  few  treasures  that  reminded  him  of  his  darling. 
He  took  out  the  letters  and  read  them  over  tearfully. 
He  then  kissed  them  again  and  again.  He  tied  them 
up  at  last,  with  the  letter  he  had  just  received,  and  the 
lock  of  hair  he  had  claimed  one  day  as  a  keepsake, 
and  the  few  pressed  flowers  and  leaves  which  had  lain 
on  her  lap  that  day  they  had  plighted  their  troth  at 


KATIE  S    GREAT    SACRIFICE.  429 

Mossy  Bank,  which  had  been  preserved  by  him  as 
souvenirs  of  that  day  of  days,  and  he  placed  all  these 
treasures  in  a  little  box,  sealed  it  securely,  and  ad 
dressed  it  to  Miss  Katie  Anderson. 

"Now  I'll  leave  this  cursed  place,"  he  thought. 
"  I  can  endure  it  no  longer.  Everything  here  is  against 
me.  I  wonder  if  God  has  not  also  deserted  me.  But 
no,  no,  that  can  not  be !  I  yet  will  cling  to  him  ;  per 
haps  he  will  bring  light  into  this  thick  darkness.  But 
not  here — not  now !  Away  from  Wellington  !  I  can  't 
live  here,  where  I  must  see  her,  but  never  approach  her. 
I  must  seek  my  fortune  elsewhere.  I  '11  sell  what  effects 
I  have,  and  they  are  few  enough,  God  knows !  and  I  '11 
go  where  I  '11  never  hear  of  her  again." 

That  night,  after  the  lamps  had  been  lighted,  Mr. 
Anderson  and  his  family  gathered  together  in  the  sit 
ting-room,  and  every  heart  but  one  was  peaceful  and 
happy.  Katie  sat  silently  by  the  window  while  her 
mother  and  father  were  engrossed  in  making  plans  for 
the  proposed  visit  to  Kentucky.  Mrs.  Anderson  said 
that  her  sole  regret  was  that  her  husband  was  not  going 
with  her  ;  otherwise  she  thought  of  the  trip  with  happy 
expectation.  Mr.  Anderson  answered  that  Katie  was 
altogether  too  pale  and  woe-begone  of  late,  and  that 
she  must  go  in  his  place,  and  bring  back  the  Kentucky 
bloom  on  her  cheeks.  Poor  Katie  wondered  if  her 
cheeks  would  ever  bloom  again;  she  sat  silently  by  the 
window,  with  her  hands  folded  on  her  lap — sat  silently 
by  the  window,  looking  out  into  the  night.  Had  this 
picture  been  arranged  by  the  Divine  Artist  to  gladden 
on  this  sad,  sad  night  the  burning  eyes  of  William 
Manning?  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  con 
cealed  by  the  trunk  of  a  great  tree,  he  stood,  gazing  at 
the  beautiful  picture  with  the  intensity  of  a  lover  at  the 
lifeless  form  of  her  who  was  to  have  been  his  bride, 
expecting  every  moment  to  see  the  undertaker  screw 
down  the  coffin-lid,  and  shut  her  face  away  from  him 
forever.  How  pale  she  looked!  As  pale  as  the  un 
spotted  lily  of  the  valley !  She  had  been  sick,  poor 


43°  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

child;  no  wonder  she  was  pale!  But,  ah!  there  was 
something  in  her  face  that  sickness  could  hardly  ac 
count  for;  the  shadow  of  a  great  sorrow  enshrouded 
her.  It  might  be,  he  thought,  it  might  be  that  the 
writing  of  her  letter  had  given  her  as  much  pain  as  the 
reading  of  it  had  given  him.  He  had  read  of  such 
things.  He  had  no  thought  of  reproach  for  her.  He 
could  not  believe  her  unkind  or  unwomanly.  She  had 
a  right  to  sever  the  engagement,  and  had  not  done  so 
without  good  cause,  from  her  point  of  vision,  he  was 
sure.  And  so,  tenderly,  not  resentfully,  he  stood 
there,  and  feasted  his  eyes  on  every  feature,  on  every 
movement. 

Occasionally  some  one  passed  him,  but  he  stood 
there  on  the  sidewalk,  caring  nothing  for  what  such  an 
one  might  say  or  think.  For  this  might  be  his  last 
look.  He  might  see  her  again  before  he  left;  he 
might  not.  He  would  fill  his  soul  now  so  full  of  her 
image  that  she  would  be  ever  before  him,  night  and  day, 
his  only  love,  never  to  be  displaced  by  any  other,  sancti 
fied  in  his  recollection  as  are  the  dear  departed.  At 
last  he  saw  her  kiss  her  father  and  mother,  and  speak 
to  her  brother,  and  then  come  to  the  window  and  look 
in  the  direction  of  the  very  spot  where  he  was  stand 
ing  veiled  with  darkness.  Then  she  left  the  room,  and 
he  saw  her  no  more,  and  the  night  fell  thick  upon  him. 

With  a  sigh  he  walked  away,  and  finally  returned  to 
his  office.  He  opened  the  box  into  which  he  had  put  his 
precious  little  relics.  "  She  may  have  the  letters,"  he 
said.  "She  is  entitled  to  them.  But  I  can't  give  up 
the  keepsakes."  So  he  took  the  lock  of  dark  brown 
hair  and  the  leaves  and  flowers,  and  put  them  back  into 
his  drawer,  and  then  sealed  the  box  again.  "  I  re 
member  what  she  said  when  I  clipped  that  lock  of  hair 
from  her  head ;  she  said  for  me  to  keep  it,  and  see  how 
it  would  look  on  her  head  on  her  golden-wedding  day ; 
and  she  said  for  me  to  think  how  much  'she  loved  me 
whenever  I  should  see  that  lock  of  hair."  William 
Maiming  bowed  his  head  upon  his  desk  and  wept ;  for 


KATIE'S  GREAT  SACRIFICE.  431 

his  heart  was  not  flint,  and  he  loved  Katie  Anderson 
very  dearly. 

The  next  day  Katie  received  the  box  containing 
her  letters.  She  read  them,  and  said  to  herself  that 
she  had  meant  every  word  she  had  written,  and  then 
she  cried,  and  afterwards  burned  them,  and  then  cried 
again.  But  there  was  such  a  stir  of  preparation  ^oing 
on  in  the  house  that  she  had  little  time  to  indulge  in 
grief,  but  busied  herself  with  her  work,  and  obeyed  the 
commands  of  her  parents  in  a  mechanical  sort  of  way. 
By  Saturday  evening  all  things  had  been  made  ready 
for  the  journey,  and  on  Monday  morning  the  mother 
and  daughter  were  to  take  the  train  for  Kentucky. 
"Perhaps  by  the  time  we  come  back,  something  may 
happen,"  thought  Katie,  with  a  little  thrill  of  hope. 
That  something  was  altogether  improbable.  And  yet 
she  persisted  in  thinking  it  might  be  possible  for  Mr. 
Manning's  relation  to  Bessie  to  be  explained  consistently 
with  his  profession  of  love  for  herself,  and  for  all  other 
mysteries  to  be  satisfactorily  explained,  and  all  opposi 
tion  withdrawn,  and  for  her  night  of  sorrow  to  be  turned 
into  a  day  of  rejoicing. 

Sunday  morning  she  went  to  church  and  sang  in 
the  choir  as  usual.  Manning  had  learned  from  James 
on  Saturday  the  particulars  of  the  proposed  visit  to 
Kentucky.  He  determined  to  attend  her  church  on 
Sunday,  and  see  her  once  more.  How  her  heart  flut 
tered,  poor  child!  when  she  looked  up  and  saw  him 
entering  the  building.  Of  course  she  had  be»n  sick, 
and  was  still  weak ;  if  a  tear  trembled  on  her  cheek  it 
is  no  more  than  might  have  happened  to  many  a  girl 
under  like  circumstances.  Nor  was  there  any  need  for 
hastily  brushing  it  away.  If  the  parson  should  see  it, 
he  would  think  she  was  weeping  because  of  the  heav 
enly  manna  she  would  miss  from  his  sermons  during  the 
ensuing  weeks  ;  if  the  congregation  should  see  it,  they 
would  think  she  was  sad  at  leaving  home  and  her  com- 
.panions ;  and  if  William  Manning  should  see  it,  he 
might  think — ah !  if  he  did,  he  would  think  the  truth, 


432  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

and  she  did  not  seek  at  this  last  moment  to  conceal  the 
truth  wholly,  even  from  him.  As  the  services  closed,  she 
looked  at  him — she  could  not  control  her  eyes,  and 
would  not  if  she  could — and  found  his  gaze  fixed  on 
her  in  a  manner  that  told  his  love  more  eloquently  than 
ever  tongue  could  have  uttered  it.  And  there  must 
have  been  just  such  a  love-light  in  her  eyes,  for  William 
Manning  went  away  from  the  church  feeling  that  Katie 
could  not  be  utterly  heartless,  and  that  she  must  in 
deed  have  suffered  from  their  mysterious  alienation  as 
well  as  he. 

The  next  morning  the  train  bore  Mrs.  Anderson 
and  her  daughter  away  from  Wellington  towards  the 
State  of  Kentucky.  "  I  '11  not  see  him  again  for  several 
weeks,"  thought  Katie.  Manning  was  sitting  in  his 
office  when  the  sounding  of  the  whistle  announced  the 
departure  of  the  train.  "  I  '11  not  see  her  again  for  years, 
probably  never,"  he  ,  thought ;  "but  I'll  love  her  till 
the  end." 

In  the  meantime  it  had  been  determined  by  a  band 
of  conspirators  that  the  end  for  Manning  should  soon 
come ;  and  if  they  succeed  in  this  conspiracy,  his  love 
will  have  no  time  for  growing  cold. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

A    MYSTERIOUS    DISAPPEARANCE. 

William  Manning  had  now  determined  to  leave 
Wellington.  The  place  no  longer  possessed  a  single  at 
traction  for  him.  His  expectations  of  happiness  in  this 
thriving  city  had  failed  him  one  by  one.  He  was  anx 
ious  to  free  himself  from  his  present  complications  and 
embarrassments,  to  seek  at  once  a  new  home,  and  to 
begin  again  the  battle  of  life.  Katie's  last  letter  had 
severed  the  only  remaining  tie  which  bound  him  to  the 
scene  of  his  political  defeat,  and  he  was  now  deter 
mined  to  quit  the  place  at  once  and  forever. 

Yet  he  was  fully  resolved  that  the  people  should  not 
know  of  his  intended  departure.  As  he  had  come,  no 
one  knew  whence,  so  he  would  go,  no  one  should 
know  whither.  He  would  leave  his  effects  in  the  hands 
of  some  discreet  and  trusty  friend,  and  depart  under 
cover  of  the  night,  and  no  venomous  tale  of  slander, 
no  aspersion  from  the  tongue  of  the  envious  or  spiteful 
should  follow  him  from  Wellington  to  harass  or  annoy 
him  in  his  new  home.  He  would  go  still  farther  into 
the  great  unsettled  West. 

Accordingly  he  called  Marion  Spence  into  his  office 
for  a  private  conversation. 

"  Spence,"  he  began,  "  have  you  decided  yet  what 
you  are  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  have  at  last,"  was  the  answer.  "  I  have  formed 
a  partnership  with  Colonel  Mansfield  in  the  dry-goods 
business." 

"  I  'm  glad  to  hear  that,  truly  glad.  The  Colonel 
needs  a  little  young  blood  about  his  store.  How  did 
your  partnership  come  about?" 

' '  I  think  Squire  Ingleside  had  something  to  do 
with  it.  He  and  the  Colonel  are  fast  friends,  and  do 
not  hesitate  to  give  each  other  much  sound  advice 


434  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

from  time  to  time.  The  Colonel  has  felt  alarmed  foi 
some  time  at  the  gradual  decline  of  his  business.  He 
has  let  his  store  get  incumbered  with  a  lot  of  goods 
that  are  old,  out  of  style,  and  practically  valueless. 
The  Squire  advised  him  to  get  a  partner  who  would 
get  up  a  display  of  his  goods,  brighten  up  the  stock, 
clean  up  the  store,  and  in  short  get  up  a  full  head  of 
steam  ;  arid  when  the  Colonel  asked  where  he  could  find 
such  a  man,  the  Squire  recommended  me.  And  that 
is  the  way  it  has  come  about.  The  Colonel  is  to  fur 
nish  the  capital,  and  I  'm  expected  to  furnish  muscle 
and  snap." 

"Well,  Spence, "  said  Manning,  "I  am  rejoiced  to 
hear  it.  You  deserve  success.  You  have  come  out 
nobly  from  an  evil  business,  and  you  '11  find,  as  I  used 
to  tell  you,  that  you  '11  be  supported  and  encouraged 
by  all  true  men  in  your  efforts  to  live  a  better  life. 
But  now  I  want  to  say  something  about  myself,  in  con 
fidence.  I  am  going  away — I  can  not  say  for  what 
length  of  time,  nor  where,  nor  why."  Spence  looked 
surprised,  and  would  have  spoken,  but  Manning  went 
on  without  affording  opportunity  for  interruption. 
"You  look  surprised;  and  I  don't  wonder  at  that. 
My  unexplained  absence  will  distress  the  gossips. 
Nevertheless,  as  I  said,  I  do  not  intend  to  tell  where 
I  am  going,  not  even  to  you,  whom  I  trust  as  a  true 
'friend.  Let  me  say  this  much,  however,  that  Welling 
ton  has  no  attraction  for  me.  There  are  dear  friends 
here,  and  I  can  never  forget  them.  But  this  isn't  my 
home ;  it  might  have  been — I  thought  once  it  would 
be ;  but  matters  have  gone  adversely  in  many  ways, 
and  the  only  possibility  of  happiness  for  me  is  in  get 
ting  out  of  this  place  as  fast  as  I  can  go.  I  make  you 
my  confidant.  What  I  say  is  to  be  kept  as  an  inviola 
ble  secret.  I  want  you  to  take  my  books  and  accounts 
and  office  furniture,  and  sell  and  collect  as  well  as  you 
can,  and  keep  the  money  till  I  call  for  it.  Use  it, 
Spence ;  you  '11  never  be  called  on  for  interest.  I  hope 
it  will  be  a  help  to  you.  If  I  should  need  it,  and  call 


A    MYSTERIOUS    DISAPPEARANCE.  435 

for  it,  and  you  can  't  return  it,  that  will  be  all  right,  and 
no  harm  will  be  done." 

"  But  I  want  to  dissuade  you  from  such  a  foolish 
step,  Mr.  Manning.  Please  do  n't  leave  us.  We  can  't 
get  along  without  you.  Let  me  be  selfish — /  can  't 
get  along  without  you.  I  need  your  help  and  encour 
agement.  The  temperance  people  of  Wellington  need 
your  support  against  the  saloons.  You  must  not 
leave  us." 

"  I  am  interested  in  all  that,  and  in  you  personally," 
returned  Manning.  "There  are  indeed  reasons  why 
I  am  sorry  to  go.  But  there  are  other  reasons  which 
drive  me  away,  and  render  Wellington  henceforth  in 
tolerable. " 

"From  all  I  have  heard,"  ventured  Mr.  Spence, 
"  there  ought  to  be  one  attraction  here  from  which  you 
couldn't  possibly  get  away." 

A  look  of  pain  passed  over  Manning's  face. 

"You  will  please  not  allude  to  the  subject,"  was 
all  he  said. 

"Pardon  me, "  said  Spence.  After  a  pause  he 
added:  "  I  fear  your  defeat  in  the  convention  has  dis 
couraged  you.  And  yet  it  ought  not  to  do  so.  What 
else  was  to  be  expected  ?  I  do  n't  believe  the  office 
would  have  been  of  any  real  benefit  to  you  any  way. 
I  think  your  success  here  is  now  a  certainty,  office  or 
no  office.  You  have  a  great  many  friends,  and  are 
earning  an  enviable  reputation  throughout  the  county. 
If  you  '11  stay  here,  I  predict  that  in  two  or  three  years 
you  '11  have  the  best  law  practice  in  the  city.  I  know 
exactly  what  I  am  talking  about.  I  've  heard  a  great 
many  prominent  men  so  express  themselves  lately. 
The  way  you  chewed  up  Squabble.,  Wriggle  and  Dab 
ble  is  the  town  talk,  and  everybody  but  the  gentlemen 
themselves  and  their  clients  is  highly  pleased.  You  've 
got  a  foothold,  and  are  acting  very  foolishly  if  you  give 
it  up.  That 's  my  judgment  of  the  matter." 

"  I  am  pleased  to  hear  all  that,"  said  Manning  with 
a  sigh.  ' '  A  little  praise  cheers  a  faint  heart  wonder- 


436  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

fully.  But  my  mind  is  unalterably  made  up.  If  you 
knew  my  reasons  for  this  step,  you  would  know  it 
would  be  useless  to  try  to  persuade  me  to  stay.  But  I 
will  say  that  my  defeat  in  the  convention  is  not  what  is 
driving  me  away.  I  could  survive  that  easily  enough. 
My  business  is  steadily  increasing,  and  I  really  begin 
to  think  I  would  rather  not  be  burdened  with  the  office 
after  all.  Sour  grapes,  I  suppose.  But  I  do  n't  be 
lieve  the  people  as  a  whole  are  against  me  simply  be 
cause  they  didn't  nominate  me.  In  my  opinion,  the 
people  do  not  want  to  support  iniquity.  The  trouble 
is  they  suffer  themselves  to  be  herded  by  political  rob 
bers  and  freebooters,  instead  of  insisting  on  honest 
men  for  shepherds.  They  are  afraid  they  will  hurt 
their  respective  parties  unless  they  submit  to  the  dic 
tation  of  their  bosses.  If  the  people  can  once  more 
be  brought  to  put  country  and  honesty  above  party, 
to  refuse  to  vote  for  corrupt  men,  no  matter  by  whom 
nominated,  there  will  be  a  revolution  in  politics  that 
will  drive  out  bossism  and  corruption.  Now  take  the 
license  question  in  Wellington.  There  is  only  one  sure 
way  to  defeat  license,  and  that  is  for  the  anti-license 
men  to  run  a  mixed  ticket  of  their  best  men  from  each 
party,  and  then  stand  by  that  ticket.  As  long  as  each 
party  nominates  and  works  for  a  partisan  ticket,  the 
saloon  element  will  hold  the  balance  of  power  and  will 
control  the  nominations  and  elections.  The  same  is 
true  in  general  elections.  Whenever  temperance  men 
are  really  in  earnest,  and  say  they  will  not  vote  for  a 
saloon  man,  but  will  vote  against  him  irrespective  of 
party,  the  battle  is  won  and  the  saloon  power  will  go." 

Thus  ended  their  conversation.  Spence  assumed 
the  trust  his  friend  had  spoken  of,  and  with  earnest  ex 
pressions  of  friendship  the  two  separated. 

At  one  time  during  the  afternoon  Manning  was 
standing  on  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  his  office,  engaged 
in  anxious  thought,  when  he  heard  a  call  from  Squire 
Ingleside.  He  turned  around  suddenly  to  respond  to 
the  call,  and  in  so  doing  collided  with  Henry  Anderson, 


A    MYSTERIOUS    DISAPPEARANCE.  437 

who  happened  to  be  passing  at  the  moment,  throwing 
that  gentleman  violently  upon  the  walk.  Manning 
hastened  to  assist  the  fallen  man  to  his  feet  and  to 
apologize  for  the  accident ;  but  the  latter  would  listen 
to  no  apology.  Smarting  from  his  bruises  and  the  in 
dignity  of  his  fall,  he  abused  William  Manning  round 
ly,  and  persisted  in  his  abuse  despite  the  apologies 
offered,  till  the  attorney  also  lost  his  temper,  and  a 
fierce  altercation  ensued.  During  the  quarrel  consid 
erable  bitterness  was  manifested  by  each  towards  the 
other.  This  seemingly  trivial  incident  was  remembered 
and  duly  embellished  afterwards. 

That  evening  about  dusk  William  Manning  was 
seated  in  his  office,  enveloped  in  darkness.  He  cared 
not  for  a  light.  The  gloom  of  a  moonless  night  was 
more  in  keeping  with  the  somberness  of  his  reflections. 
This  was  the  last  hour  he  ever  expected  -to  spend  in 
Wellington.  He  was  about  to  leave  the  city,  and  was 
going  to  burn  the  bridges  behind  him.  Virtue  had 
brought  him  little  reward ;  but  the  reward  might  come 
hereafter;  if  not  here,  in  another  world.  He  would 
not  bid  his  Wellington  friends  good-bye.  He  was  free 
to  leave  them  as  he  had  found  them,  for  he  owed  no 
man  anything,  and  every  fee  charged  against  his 
clients  on  his  books  had  been  fully  and  honorably 
earned. 

He  had  some  money  in  his  pocket,  and  had  put  into 
a  small  valise  such  changes  of  apparel  as  he  thought 
heN  might  need,  and  was  ready  to  leave  as  soon  as  the 
liveryman  should  send  his  horse  to  the  sidewalk  in 
front  of  his  office. 

He  was  aroused  by  a  Tap  at  the  door,  and  called 
out:  "Come  in."  The  door  was  opened,  and  a  half- 
grown  boy,  whose  features  were  indistinguishable  in 
the  gloom,  stood  on  the  threshold. 

"  Is  this  yere  Mr.  Manning?"  was  the  query. 

' '  It  is.      What  is  wanted  ?  " 

"Why,  Mr.  Silas  Jenkins  is  a-dyin',  and  he  wants 
to  see  you  right  away  about  his  will." 


43$  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  demanded  Manning. 

"  I  'm  a  boy  what  works  for  Mr.  Jenkins." 

' '  Yes,  but  what  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  My  name?  Why,  my  name  is — is  Johnny  Solan." 

"You  don't  seem  to  remember  your  name  very 
readily." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  do.  I  've  knowed  my  name  ever  sence 
I  've  knowed  anything." 

"  How  do  you  spell  it  ?  " 

"Couldn't  spell  it  for  a  king.  Never  had  no 
schoolin'." 

"How  long  have  you  lived  at  Mr.  Jenkins'?" 

"Oh,  just  for  a  few  days." 

"Strange,"  thought  Manning,  "that  Jenkins  should 
want  to  change  his  will  again  The  old  fellow  must  be 
getting  very  notionate.  i  '11  stop  and  see  him — it 's 
right  on  my  way — and  this  will  close  my  practice  in 
Callitso  County."  Then  he  said  to  the  boy:  "Tell 
Mr.  Jenkins  that  I'll  be  there  inside  of  an  hour."  The 
messenger  disappeared,  and  Manning  continued  to  wait, 
but  with  growing  impatience  as  the  moments  dragged 
slowly  by. 

At  last  he  was  informed  that  his  horse  was  waiting 
for  him  in  front  of  the  office.  He  left  the  room  which 
had  been  his  home  for  the  last  few  years  with  a  feeling 
of  regret,  and  mounted  the  horse  which  was  to  carry 
him  through  the  darkness  to  the  river. 

"He  is  a  gentle  horse,"  said  the  stable-boy  who 
was  holding  the  animal,  "an'  a  good  traveler,  too. 
You  need  n't  be  afraid  he'll  run  off,  an'  if  you  'd  turn 
him  loose  anywheres  in  the  county,  he  'd  strike  a 
straight  track  for  the  livery  stable." 

"What 's  that  ?  "  asked  Manning,  as  he  fastened  his 
valise  to  the  pommel  of  the  saddle. 

"I  say  he  knows  every  road  in  the  county,  an'  he 
knows  where  he  gets  his  fodder  as  well  as  I  do.  I  '11 
bet  I  can  turn  him  loose  anywhere  in  the  county,  an' 
he  '11  come  straight  home.  An'  say,  you  'd  better  look 
out  how  you  tie  the  critter.  If  you  tie  a  single  bow 


A    MYSTERIOUS    DISAPPEARANCE.  439 

knot  he  '11  untie  it  an'  come  back  without  yer.     That 's 
the  trick  he  played  on  Tom  Sykes  onct." 

"  He  must  be  a  brilliant  horse,"  said  Manning. 

"  He  's  mighty  knowin',  you  bet !" 

Manning  galloped  away  from  the  square.  At  the 
same  time,  a  boy  about  half  grown,  who  had  been 
standing  in  a  dark  place  with  his  hat  pulled  down  over 
his  eyes,  ambled  away  to  the  office  of  Mayor  Trinken- 
viellager,  and  gave  four  distinct  raps  on  the  door.  The 
boy  was  admitted  into  the  room. 

"  Well?"  said  Sawtheaire,  by  way  of  interrogatory. 

"  It 's  all  right,"  answered  the  boy. 

"  How  all  right?'  Tell  us  what  has  been  done,  boy." 

"  He  's  jist  left  his  office,  an'  the  last  I  seen  of  him 
he  was  a-gallopin'  out  of  town." 

"  Did  you  deliver  the  message?" 

"  Course.  What  would  he  'a'  galloped  out  of  town 
sich  a  night  for  unless  I  had  delivered  it?" 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"  He  said  he  'd  be  there  inside  of  an  hour." 

"Now,  boy,  here  's  your  money — all  that  you  were 
to  have,  and  a  little  more — good  measure,  you  see. 
Now,  you  little  scoundrel,  keep  your  mouth  shut,  or 
I'll  cut  your  throat!  Do  you  hear  me ?"  Sawtheaire 
took  up  from  his  table  a  large  knife  with  a  villainous 
looking  blade,  and  gently  patted  his  leg  with  the 
weapon. 

"O  merciful  goodness,  Mister!"  cried  the  boy, 
"you  bet  I  '11  not  tell  anybody!" 

"See  that  you  don't,  you  little  rascal;  for  if  you 
do  n't  mind  me,  I  '11  cut  your  throat  sure,  and  burn 
your  carcass  in  a  furnace  !" 

The  boy  escaped  from  the  room  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

Meanwhile  Manning  was  galloping  along  the  high 
way,  his  mind  harassed  by  many  conflicting  thoughts, 
when  he  suddenly  remembered  that  he  had  forgotten 
to  put  into  his  valise  the  precious  lock  of  hair  and  the 
flowers  and  leaves  which  he  had  intended  to  keep  as 
mementos  of  the  past.  He  wheeled  his  horse  around 


44°  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

immediately  and  galloped  back  towards  the  city.  He 
had  gone  but  a  short  distance  when  he  became  aware 
that  a  horseman  was  approaching  him.  The  clattering 
of  the  horse's  hoofs  momentarily  grew  louder.  Pres 
ently  Manning's  horse  shied,  and  the  two  travelers 
passed  without  greeting  or  recognition.  The  night  was 
not  only  moonless,  but  heavy  clouds  hung  threaten 
ingly  overhead,  and  consequently  the  discernment  of 
more  than  the  outline  of  each  other's  figure  was  im 
possible.  As  Manning  rode  on,  wondering  who  the 
horseman  could  be,  it  occurred  to  him  that  the  bare 
outline  so  indistinctly  seen  was  wonderfully  like  that 
of  Henry  Anderson.  Yet  as  Anderson  could  have 
no  business  in  that  direction  at  that  hour,  the  man 
could  not  have  been  he.  At  any  rate,  the  identity 
of  the  horseman  was  a  matter  of  no  consequence 
whatever. 

Manning  tied  his  horse  at  the  hitch-rack,  and  went 
directly  across  the  street  towards  his  office,  and  there 
met  Lyman  Sawtheaire,  face'  to  face,  on  the  sidewalk. 
That  prudent  gentleman  was  determined  to  have  an 
abundance  of  evidence  to  establish  an  alibi  in  case  sus 
picion  should  be  directed  towards  himself,  and  had 
therefore  taken  leave  of  absence  from  his  companions 
for  a  short  while,  and  was  now  standing  on  the  side 
walk  to  be  seen  of  men,  supposing  that  his  victim  was 
by  this  time  lying  dead,  or  in  the  throes  of  death,  in 
the  swamp.  He  started  in  surprise  when  he  saw 
Manning,  not  dead,  not  even  scotched,  lithe  of  limb 
and  as  elastic  of  step  as  ever.  He  waited  until  Manning 
came  down  from  his  office,  crossed  the  street  to  his 
horse,  and  mounted  and  rode  away. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this?"  inquired  Saw 
theaire  of  himself.  "The  devil  ought  to  be  dead  by 
this  time.  What  did  he  come  back  for  ?  And  what  is 
the  mystery  of  that  valise  ?  Why  should  he  take  a 
valise  at  all  ?  Why  should  he  bring  it  back,  take  it  to 
his  office,  and  then  take  it  away  with  him  again  ?  Has 
that  cursed  boy  deceived  us?  No,  that  can't  be,  for 


A    MYSTERIOUS    DISAPPEARANCE.  44! 

Manning  would  not  have  started  at  all  if  the  boy  had 
not  delivered  the  message.  He  must  have  carried  books 
and  writing  material  in  the  valise,  and  have  come  back 
for  something  he  had  neglected  to  take.  At  any  rate, 
the  boys  will  wait  for  him,  and  do  the  job  neatly,  I  've 
no  doubt.  But  the  longer  they  're  kept  out  there  the 
more  dangerous  their  job  becomes — the  harder  it  will  be 
for  them  to  establish  an  alibi.  And  then  Manning  will 
fight  like  the  devil,  too,  unless  the  boys  get  in  center 
blows  at  the  start." 

He  returned  to  the  Mayor's  office  and  reported  what 
he  had  seen,  and  thereupon  the  Mayor  became  greatly 
alarmed. 

"  O  mine  heavens  alive  !  "  he  groaned.  "  Dat  man 
got  nine  lives  !  Ve  get  caught  yet,  und  go  a-danglin' 
mit  a  rope.  Hang  dese  collars  !  "  he  panted,  tugging 
at  that  article  of  clothing.  "  Dey  vas  big  enough,  only 
dey  vas  about  six  sizes  too  short !  " 

Sawtheaire  did  not  feel  like  smiling,  but  sat  there  in 
silence,  counting  the  minutes,  and  listening  eagerly  for 
any  sound  which  might  indicate  the  approach  of  Holly 
and  Jimson.  Bechdold  gave  no  outward  sign  of  un 
easiness. 

Once  more  out  of  the  city,  Manning  spurred  his 
horse  to  a  rapid  gallop  till  he  reached  the  swamp,  where 
he  reined  the  animal  down  to  a  walk,  and  proceeded 
leisurely  along  the  macadamized  road.  He  had  gone 
but  a  short  distance  farther  when  his  horse  began  to  be 
have  strangely,  and  finally  stopped  and  neighed  at  the 
side  of  a  dark  object  near  the  road,  which  turned 
out  to  be  a  riderless  horse.  Whose  was  it?  Where 
had  it  come  from  ?  Where  was  the  rider  ?  These 
questions  were  profound  mysteries,  and  he  had  no  time 
to  attempt  their  solution.  As  he  neared  the  center  of 
the  swamp  he  thought  he  heard  a  groan  and  a  rustling 
of  the  rushes  on  the  east  side  of  the  road.  He  stopped 
and  listened.  Perhaps  the  horse  had  thrown  its  rider, 
and  he  was  lying  here  in  need  of  help.  He  called,  but 
there  was  no  answer.  He  called  again.  Still  there  was 


44-  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

no  sound  in  response.  A  feeling  of  loneliness,  not  of 
fear,  took  possession  of  Manning,  a  feeling  that  he  was 
in  the  vicinity  of  some  great  tragedy,  or  approaching 
some  great  danger.  He  dismounted  from  his  horse, 
and  took  from  his  valise  a  revolver.  He  struck  a  match, 
and  looked  about  him  in  the  road  and  along  the  side  of 
the  roadway.  Leading  his  horse  by  the  bridle-rein,  he 
walked  up  and  down  the  road,  lighting  match  after 
match,  and  searching  as  best  he  could  by  the  flickering 
and  uncertain  light  for  an  explanation  of  the  noise  he 
thought  he  had  heard.  He  found  no  one  ;  he  heard 
no  more  groans,  no  more  rustling  of  reeds.  Finally  he 
concluded  he  must  have  been  mistaken,  and  remounted 
his  horse.  The  incident  had  admonished  him  of  the 
possibility  of  harm  to  a  solitary  horseman  on  such  a 
night.  "I  may  need  this  pistol,"  he  thought,  "and 
I  '11  slip  it  into  my  hip  pocket  where  it  will  be  handy. 
Let  me  see,  I  have  n't  used  it  for  a  long  time.  I  sup 
pose  it 's  in  order — I  know  it 's  filled  with  cartridges, 
but  I  believe  I  '11  test  it  here  where  there  isn't  any  dan 
ger  of  hurting  anybody."  As  he  galloped  onward 
again,  he  pointed  the  revolver  into  the  swamp  and 
pulled  the  trigger.  His  horse  bounded  forward  with  a 
clatter  of  hoofs  on  the  hard  road ;  otherwise  he  might 
have  heard  a  suppressed  oath.  As  it  was,  he  heard 
nothing ;  and  being  fully  satisfied  of  the  integrity  of 
his  weapon,  he  put  it  into  his  pocket. 

He  stopped  at  Mr.  Jenkins'  and  knocked  at  the 
door.  After  much  vigorous  use  of  his  fist  he  succeeded 
in  rousing  a  superannuated  dog,  which  forthwith  set  up 
a  dismal  howl.  Finally  an  old  woman  hobbled  to  the 
door,  and  without  opening  it,  cried  out : 

"  Who  's  there  ?  "  and  then  without  waiting  for  an 
answer,  she  cried  out  again:  "a  purty  time  o'  night  to 
be  disturbin'  ol'  folks  like  us!  " 

"I'm  William  Manning." 

"  Don't  keer  if  you  are,"  growled  the  old  woman. 
"  Mannin'  orter  have  more  sense  than  to  come  here  at 
sich  a  time,  an'  I  b'lieve  he  has." 


A    MYSTERIOUS    DISAPPEARANCE.  443 

"I  was  told  that  Mr.  Jenkins  wanted  to  see  me 
about  his  will,  and  I  've  come  to  see  what  he  wants." 

"  He  's  done  made  his  will,  an'  I  'm  sick  hearin'  about 
wills  anyhow.  What 's  the  use  of  makin'  wills  unless 
a  man  's  goin'  to  die.  He  aint  agoin'  to  die,  I  tell  you. 
He  's  good  for  ten  years,  like  as  not !  " 

"Then  he  doesn't  want  to  see  me?" 

"  See  yer?  No,  course  he  don  't.  If  you  're  Man- 
nin',  you  know  he  's  made  his  will.  I  do  n't  b'lieve  yer 
Mannin'.  Yer  a  burglar,  that 's  what  ye  air  !  Get  out  o' 
this  yere  yard,  or  I  '11  set  the  dog  on  yer.  Here,  Sane ! 
Sane  !  "  At  this  the  dog  renewed  his  dismal  wail,  and 
Manning  beat  a  hasty  retreat. 

He  rode  towards  the  south.  If  there  were  watchers 
on  that  road  they  did  not  see  him  return.  About  six 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  horse  he  had  ridden  can 
tered  up  to  the  stable  in  Wellington,  equipped  with 
saddle  and  bridle  as  when  it  had  left  the  stable  the 
evening  before.  But  there  was  no  rider  in  the  saddle. 
William  Manning  had  left  Wellington  as  mysteriously 
as  he  had  come. 

"  How  fortunate,"  said  the  proprietor  of  the  stable, 
when  relating  the  circumstance  afterwards,  "that  he 
paid  me  his  bill  before  the  horse  left  the  stable !  " 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE    TRAGEDY    AT   THE    SWAMP. 

-  Henry  Anderson  had  loaned  part  of  his  money  to 
farmers  in  the  vicinity  of  his  old  home,  and  Mr.  Mur 
phy  had  lately  made  application  to  him  for  a  small 
loan.  Not  having  the  money  at  command  at  the  time, 
he  promised  his  friend  that  as  soon  as  his  wife  and 
daughter  were  gone  he  would  take  him  the  money  and 
spend  a  few  days  with  him  in  the  country.  He  had  a 
double  purpose  in  mind  in  this  promise:  the  first  was  to 
devote  a  few  days  to  electioneering  for  his  party  among 
his  former  neighbors,  and  the  other  was  to  place  him 
self  for  a  time  where  his  old  enemy,  rum,  could  present 
no  temptation  to  him.  During  the  present  day  he  had 
found  some  difficulty  already  in  restraining  his  appetite 
when  passing  the  open  doors  of  the  grog-shops.  He 
had  made  his  pledge  of  total  abstinence  in  good  faith, 
and  was  resolved  to  keep  it.  He  had  learned  that  one 
way  to  defeat  the  devil,  and  perhaps  the  very  best  way 
of  routing  that  old  adversary,  was  to  keep  away  from 
his  haunts.  Once  he  had  thought  himself  strong 
enough  to  meet  the  enemy  on  his  own  territory ;  latter 
ly  he  had  tried  that  method  of  warfare  sufficiently  to 
learn  that  the  result  was  inevitable  defeat.  He  com 
municated  his  intentions  to  his  son,  who  approved  of 
his  course.  Having  obtained  on  the  day  of  Manning's 
departure  the  amount  of  money  he  had  agreed  to 
furnish  Mr.  Murphy,  he  determined  to  ride  thither 
that  evening  and  put  himself  effectually  beyond  dan 
ger. 

Just  before  his  unfortunate  collision  with  Manning 
that  afternoon  he  had  met  Squire  Tngleside  on  the  side 
walk. 

"Come  to  my  office  to-night,  Anderson,"  said  the 
Squire.  "Some  of  the  central  committee  are  in  from  • 


THE  TRAGEDY  AT  THE  SWAMP.          445 

the  country,  and  have  agreed  to  meet  the  city  members 
there  at  half-past  seven." 

"  I  don't  believe  I  can  come,"  said  Anderson. 

"You  must  come,  Anderson,  you  must  come. 
You're  one  of  the  committee,  and  we've  got  some 
planning  and  figuring  to  do.  We  can  't  afford  to  be 
beaten  in  November.  Besides,  I  Ve  got  a  fresh  jug  of 
genuine,  old-fashioned  Bourbon  whisky,  the  sparkle  of 
which  will  set  a  thirsty  man's  eyes  to  dancing.  Come 
right  along ;  we  '11  do  some  work  and  have  a  sociable 
time." 

"You'll  have  to  excuse  me  to-night,  Squire.  I 
have  an  imperative  engagement  in  the  country,  and 
can  't  be  with  you.  I  'm  very  sorry,  but  I  Ve  made 
arrangements  to  go  out  to  Jehu  Murphy's  this  evening. 
You  '11  really  have  to  excuse  me." 

Mr.  Anderson  might  have  postponed  his  trip  to  the 
country  had  the  Squire  made  no  mention  of  his  jug. 
He  was  prevented  by  divers  little  duties  claiming  his 
attention  from  starting  at  the  expected  hour,  and  would 
have  postponed  his  trip  on  that  account,  but  for  the  ex 
cuse  he  had ,  rendered  the  Squire,  which  seemed  to 
make  it  necessary  for  him  to  leave  the  city.  So  when 
James  demurred  against  his  going  in  the  darkness  of 
night  so  great  a  distance,  with  five  hundred  dollars 
upon  his  person,  he  laughed  carelessly,  and  said  he 
had  no  fear,  and  would  rather  go  in  the  cool  of  the 
night  than  in  the  heat  of  the  day. 

Nearly  a  mile  south  of  the  city  he  came  almost  into 
collision  with  a  horseman  going  in  the  opposite  direc 
tion  at  a  brisk  gallop,  but  could  not  see  sufficiently  to 
make  out  his  identity.  He  rode  along  at  ?.  moderate 
trot,  thinking  over  the  events  of  the  last  few  months. 
His  soul  was  buoyant  and  full  of  hope  to-night.  The 
difficulties  which  had  surrounded  him  were  giving  way 
and  the  sky  was  clearing.  Katie  had  renounced  her 
unfortunate  attachment  for  William  Manning,  and  at 
this  he  was  rejoiced  ;  James  had  shown  himself  pos 
sessed  of  strong  and  noble  characteristics,  and  would 


44-6  A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

probably  make  a  man  of  whom  any  father  might  be 
proud.  It  remained  for  him,  the  husband  and  father, 
by  a  life  of  sobriety  to  insure  the  happiness  of  his 
household. 

His  mind  then  wandered  to  Kentucky,  the  place  of 
his  birth  and  childhood  and  early  manhood.  He  won 
dered  what  changes  his  wife  would  find  there,  and  what 
Katie's  opinion  of  the  country  would  be.  "  They  are 
there  now,1'  he  thought.  "What  a  pleasure  it  must 
be  for  Mary  to  roam  once  more  over  the  old  hills  where 
she  used  to  gather  flowers  and  blackberries  when  she 
was  a  girl !  And  what  changes  she  will  find  every 
where  !  Old  friends  and  neighbors  gone,  and  new  faces 
there  instead !  This  is  surely  a  world  of  change,  and 
the  places  that  now  know  us  will  soon  know  us  no 
more  forever." 

Having  reached  the  swamp,  he  drew  the  reins,  and 
proceeded  along  the  narrow,  macadamized  roadway  a 
a  leisurely  pace.  "  I  remember  the  old  orchard  where 
I  first  told  Mary  how  much  I  loved  her.  I  wonder  if.it 
is  still  there,  and  if  she  will  think  to  visit  it.  It  was  a 
beautiful  Spring  day,  and  the  trees  were  pink  and 
white  with  bloom.  Everything  in  nature-  seemed  to 
add  to  the  happiness  of  the  hour.  It  seems  to  me  I 
can  hear  the  bees  humming  and  the  birds  singing  just 
as  I  heard  them  then.  It  was  a  fitting  time  for  young 
people  to  love  and  speak  of  their  love.  I  wonder  if  I 
shall  ever  see  that  sacred  spot  again.  I  almost  wish  I 
had  gone  back  with  Mary  and  Katie.  But  I  suppose 
all  would  be  prosaic  now,  any  way.  A  large  part  of 
the  charm  and  beauty  was  from  within,  and  this  withered 
heart  can  never  find  in  wood  or  vale  again  the  sweet  de 
lights  of  youth." 

Just  then  a  hand  was  laid  on  his  bridle  rein,  and  his 
horse  was  thrown  back  on  its  haunches.  His  mind  was 
immediately  recalled  to  the  present,  and  his  hand  went 
involuntarily  to  his  hip  pocket.  But  before  he  could 
draw  his  pistol  he  received  a  crushing  blow  on  the 
head,  which  paralyzed  him  for  an  instant,  and  then  he 


THE  TRAGEDY  AT  THE  SWAMP.          447 

felt  himself  dragged  from  his  saddle  by  rough  hands. 
As  he  touched  the  ground  he  partially  regained  his 
senses.  Realizing  the  peril  he  was  in,  and  that  the 
struggle  was  death  for  him  or  his  assailants,  he  grasped 
one  of  the  men  by  the  throat,  and  with  a  tremendous 
effort  hurled  him  upon  the  ground.  He  turned  then 
upon  the  other  and  seized  him  by  the  beard,  but  at  the 
same  time  received  another  blow  on  his  head,  which 
loosened  his  grasp.  A  third  blow  immediately  fol 
lowed,  whereupon  he  fell  heavily  to  the  ground.  He 
had  not  been  able  to  make  out  the  identity  of  his  as 
sailants,  but  he  had  learned  that  each  of  them  had 
beard  upon  his  throat  and  chin. 

At  this  juncture,  the  sound  of  hoof-beats  smote  the 
ears  of  the  assassins,  and  they  hastily  started  the  rider 
less  horse  back  towards  the  city,  and  dragged  their 
helpless  victim  into  the  swamp.  The  horseman  con 
tinued  to  approach  till  he  was  nearly  opposite  where 
they  were  concealed,  when  Anderson  gave  a  spasmodic 
movement,  and  groaned  in  great  agony.  Holly  clapped 
his  hand  over  the  wounded  man's  mouth  to  prevent  a 
repetition  of  the  noise.  They  saw  the  traveler  moving 
about  the  road,  revolver  in  hand,  seeking  by  the  aid  of 
a  lighted  match  for  some  explanation  of  the  sounds  he 
had  heard.  Fortunately,  they  had  thrown  their  clubs 
into  the  swamp  on  the  other  side  of  the  road.  Now 
they  grasped  their  knives  and  waited  with  trepidation 
for  further  developments.  Would  he  never  go?  Yes, 
his  matches  seemed  to  have  given  out,  and  he  could 
prosecute  his  search  no  longer.  But  no,  he  had  found 
a  fresh  supply,  and  was  approaching  nearer  to  the 
trembling  wretches.  "Great  heavens !"  they  could 
scarcely  refrain  from  shrieking  aloud.  "It  is  William 
Manning!  It  is  William  Manning!"  they  thought. 
"We've  killed  the  wrong  man!"  They  dared  not 
speak — dared  not  whisper.  They  trembled  so  violently 
they  were  afraid  the  quaking  rushes  would  betray  them. 
But  now  the  light  was  gone,  and  William  Manning 
having  mounted  his  horse,  was  on  his  journey  again. 


44^  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

They  were  just  beginning  to  breathe  more  freely,  when 
bang !  went  his  revolver,  and  Holly,  with  an  oath,  threw 
his  hand  to  his  ear.  He  felt  there  a  stinging,  burning 
sensation,  and  he  knew  that  the  ball  had  passed  through 
his  right  ear.  He  set  his  teeth  together  fiercely,  and 
repressed  further  exclamation  till  the  beating  of  the 
horse's  hoofs  on  the  highway  had  died  away  in  the  dis 
tance. 

"We've  killed  the  wrong  man,"  whispered  Holly, 
seizing  Jimson  by  the  arm.  "  Great  heavens !  I  wish 
we  were  well  out  of  this  night's  business!  " 

"  But  we  're  not  out  of  it,"  said  Jimson,  "  nor  likely 
to  be  till  we're  swung  out  of  it  like  pendulums.  'Pears 
like  we  're  in  a  tight  scrape^  Come,  what '11  we  do?" 

"Suppose  we  finish  him  and  drag  him  into  the 
swamp." 

"  Finish  him  !  "  exclaimed  Jimson.  "  He  's  already 
done  for.  The  best  thing  for  us  to  do  is  to  get  back  to 
Wellington  as  fast  as  we  kin  trot.  This  is  a  tough  job. 
I  wonder  who  it  is." 

"We  daren't  light  a  lamp  to  see;  and  we'll  find 
out  soon  enough,  I'll  warrant  you." 

They  started  simultaneously  as  they  heard  a  noise 
from  the  direction  of  Wellington.  "It's  the  horse," 
whispered  Holly,  "but  I  'm  going  to  get  out  of  here. 
Let  the  body  alone.  They  '11  find  it  any  way.  Let  us 
leave  this  cursed  spot." 

"Don't  get  scared, "said  Jimson,  by  way  of  en 
couragement.  "  I  've  been  in  tighter  scrapes  than  this. 
I've  done  such  work  before,  you  know." 

Nevertheless,  when  Holly  fled  in  terror  towards  the 
city,  Jimson  was  at  his  heels.  The  very  act  of  flight 
increased  their  terror,  and  the  very  terror  which  pos 
sessed  them  increased  their  capacity  for  flight.  Having 
reached  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  they  slackened  their 
pace,  and  proceeded  more  deliberately.  Holly's  wounded 
ear  bled  freely,  though  he  attempted  to  stanch  the  blood 
with  his  pocket  handkerchief.  They  took  an  out-of-the- 
way  street,  and  moved  along  in  the  darkness,  avoiding 


THE    TRAGEDY    AT    THE    SWAMP.  449 

as  far  as  possible  any  glimmer  of  light  from  the  houses. 
They  heard  some  one  approaching,  and  stealthily  picked 
their  way  down  the  side  of  a  ravine  under  a  bridge,  and 
cowered  down  there  in  the  slime  and  mud  till  the  trav 
eler  was  out  of  hearing.  Then  they  crept  back  to  the 
middle  of  the  road.  Thus  they  went  on  till  they  reached 
the  alley  leading  up  to  the  rear  of  the  Mayor's  office. 

Here  they  saw  no  one.  At  last,  thank  heaven !  they 
stood  at  the  window,  tapping  softly  for  admittance. 
The  window  was  slowly  raised,  and  they  clambered  into 
the  room.  No  one  had  seen  them,  and  they  breathed 
more  freely. 

That  is  to  say,  they  thought  no  one  had  seen  them ; 
but  in  this  they  certainly  were  mistaken.  Thirty  or 
forty  feet  back  of  the  Mayor's  office  was  an  old  build 
ing  in  which  were  stored  certain  agricultural  imple 
ments  belonging  to  a  Wellington  business  man,  who 
was  making  a  fortune  in  the  sale  of  machinery.  Here 
his  clerk,  a  young  man  about  twenty  years  bf  age,  and 
certain  of  his  associates  had  been  in  the  habit  of  meet 
ing  for  the  purpose  of  indulging  in  the  moral  game  of 
poker.  Bert  Berry  and  one  of  his  crowd  called  Ace 
Mattock  had  just  made  their  way  cautiously  to  this 
building,  when  their  attention  was  attracted  by  the  re 
turning  footsteps  of  the  murderers.  Now  Bert  and  Ace 
were  anxious  not  to  be  seen  entering  the  building,  for 
Bert  knew  his  employer  would  give  him  a  writing  of 
divorcement  if  he  should  find  out  that  faithful  Bertie 
was  making  a  gambling-den  of  his  tool-house.  So  Bert 
and  Ace  crept  up  close  to  the  side  of  the  building,  and 
squatted  down  there  and  watched.  They  were  able  to 
make  out  the  fact  that  the  window  of  the  Mayor's  office 
was  raised,  and  that  two  men  clambered  into  the  room. 
What  was  the  meaning  of  this  strange  procedure  they 
could  not  conceive,  unless  there  was  a  game  of  poker 
going  on  in  the  Mayor's  office,  and  these  gentlemen 
felt  a  delicacy  about  entering  in  the  ordinary  way. 
This  was  a  satisfactory  explanation  to  their  minds,  so 
they  stole  into  the  tool-house,  where  they  were  soon 


45O  A    SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

joined  by  others,  and  lost  all  recollection  of  what  they 
had  seen  in  the  intensity  of  their  passion  for  gambling. 
There  was  no  present  danger  of  either  of  the  boys 
telling  what  they  had  seen,  inasmuch  as  that  might 
lead  to  unpleasant  inquiries  as  to  what  they  themselves 
were  doing  there  at  the  time. 

Trinkenviellager,  Bechdold  and  Sawtheaire  sat  dumb 
with  astonishment  while  they  listened  to  the  recital  of 
what  had  occurred  at  the  swamp.  The  appearance  of 
Holly  and  Jimson  was  altogether  frightful,  even  if  they 
had  had  no  tale  of  a  terrible,  perhaps  fatal,  mistake  to 
relate.  They  had  been,  down  in  the  dust  of  the  road, 
and  then  in  the  mud  and  slime  of  the  swamp.  Their 
faces  were  haggard  from  the  dreadful  ordeal  through 
which  they  had  passed.  The  blood  from.  Holly's 
wounded  ear  had  trickled  down  upon  his  neck  and 
clothes,  and  his  handkerchief  was  saturated  with  blood. 

"Mine  heavens  alive!"  exclaimed  the  Mayor. 
' '  Kilt  de  wrong  man  !  Lord  'a'  mercy  !  I  choke  ! 
Mit  de  deffil  de  whole  crowd  of  us  vill  go  !  " 

"It  is  certainly  a  serious  piece  of  business,"  said 
Sawtheaire.  "  You  've  killed  the  wrong  man,  an  inno 
cent  man,  we  do  n't  know  who,  and  Manning,  your 
enemy,  is  still  alive.  He  '11  pursue  you  with  his 
hatred.  He  '11  probably  ferret  out  the  whole  affair. 
He's  a  sly,  persistent  dog,  let  me  tell  you." 

"See  here,  Sawtheaire,"  said  Holly,  approaching 
the  attorney,  and  shaking  his  fist  under  that  gentle 
man's  nose,  "  I  want  to  know  what  you  mean  by  say 
ing,  '  You  've  killed  the  wrong  man  ?  '  You  dog  ! 
We've  killed  the  wrong  man!  That's  the  plain,  un 
varnished  fact.  If  my  neck  goes  into  the  halter,  you 
will  have  a  big  scuffle  on  your  hands  to  keep  yours 
out.  Remember  that,  please!" 

"Certainly,  Mr.  Holly,"  said  the  imperturbable 
Sawtheaire.,  "I  understand  that.  But  there  isn't 
any  occasion  for  alarm  on  the  part  of  any  of  us.  Heav 
ens  !  I  'm  sorry  the  wrong  man  lies  in  the  swamp. 
It 's  a  waste  of  effort.  But  the  deed  is  done ;  it  can  't 


THE  TRAGEDY  AT  THE  SWAMP.          451 

be  helped  now ;  and  the  next  thing  for  us  to  consider 
is  how  to  cover  up  our  tracks,  so  that  we  may  not  be 
suspected.  Holly,  wash  the  blood  off  of  your  face, 
and  straighten  up,  man.  There  's  the  Mayor's  wash- 
stand,  kept  for  ornament,  I  suppose,  judging  from  the 
grease  and  dirt  on  the  wash-bowl.  You  and  Jimson 
change  your  clothes  as  fast  as  you  can — somebody 
might  come,  and  then  we  'd  have  to  keep  them  out  or 
rise  and  explain.  There,  you  '11  find  your  fresh  clothes 
in  that  closet.  Get  them  on  and  hide  your  filthy  outfit 
in  the  closet.  We  must  get  to  the  sidewalk  without 
delay." 

He  ceased  speaking  for  a  moment  only,  and  then 
turned  his  attention  to  Holly  again.  "  Let  me  see  that 
ear,"  he  said,  as  he  approached  the  saloon-keeper  to  ex 
amine  the  wound.  ' '  Well,  you  can  't  attribute  that 
to  a  fall  from  a  horse,  or  to  a  blow  from  a  brickbat. 
By  the  way,  that  is  a  neat  job  —you  can  tell  inquirers 
that  you  've  had  your  ear  pierced." 

"  You  fool,  you  !  "  retorted  the  sufferer.  "If  this 
hole  was  in  your  ear  you  would  n't  be  so  smart.  I  sup 
pose  I  '11  have  to  say  I  was  fooling  with  my  pistol,  and 
got  this  for  my  carelessness.  How  will  that  do?" 

"Do?  It  will  have  to  do.  That  is  all  you  can 
say.  If  the  people  are  skeptical  as  to  that  explanation, 
they  will  be  as  to  any  other  which  can  be  given.  But 
now  let  us  be  serious,  for  we  have  serious  business  on 
our  hands.  We  are  not  suspected  as  yet,  for  as  yet 
the  murder  is  unknown.  But  as  soon  as  this  man  is 
missed,  and — by  Jove  !  have  you  thought  of  it  ? — that 
will  be  soon,  for  that  old  horse  will  stray  back  and 
.start  inquiry — well,  as  soon  as  the  man  is  missed,  the 
whole  town  will  be  alive,  and  every  man,  woman  and 
child  will  be  looking  into  closets,  and  turning  over 
stones,  and  fishing  in  ponds,  and  dragging  the  swamp, 
looking  for  the  body  and  for  clews  indicating  the  mur 
derers.  You  must  get  those  old  clothes  out  of  here 
and  clean  them  or  burn  them.  They  might  give  us  a 
great  deal  of  annoyance  in  their  present  condition. 


452  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

Then,  you  understand,  it  won't  do  for  us  to  be  idle  ot 
indifferent.  We  must  damn  the  murderers,  and  help 
search  for  them,  and  swear  they  ought  to  be  lynched 
as  soon  as  caught.  If  a  reward  is  offered  we  must  sub 
scribe  to  it,  and  show  ourselv.es  public-spirited  gentle 
men  as  we  are.  But  mark  it,  while  we  must  n't  under 
do  the  matter,  neither  must  we  overdo  it.  Indifference 
might  arouse  suspicion ;  too  much  meddling  has  been 
known  to  do  so.  .We  must  strike  the  golden  mean. 
But,  after  all,  in  order  to  clear  our  skirts  effectually, 
we  must  throw  suspicion  on  some  one  else.  That  is 
our  salvation.  There  must  be  a  sacrificial  offering. 
I  'd  rather  see  my  grandmother  hanged  than  to  be 
hanged  myself.  Of  course  I  'd  feel  sorry  for  the  old  lady, 
but  my  sympathy  for  her  would  n't  choke  like  a  rope 
around  my  own  neck.  Now,  if  that 's  true,  why 
wouldn't  it  be  a  positive  satisfaction  to  see  one's  ene 
my  hanged  to  save  one's  self  from  dangling?  Now 
who  shall  be  the  sacrifice  ?  " 

There  was  no  answer,  for  no  one  addressed  had  any 
answer  to  give. 

"You're  a  set  of  numskulls,"  cried  Sawtheaire. 
"You  can  neither  plan  nor  execute.  After  I  had 
worked  out  all  the  details  of  a  plan  to  perfection,  and 
drilled  you  in  your  parts,  you  went  out  to  the  swamp 
and  managed  the  affair  like  butchers.  When  you  rec 
ognized  Manning,  why  didn't  you  shoot  him,  and  then 
drag  the  two  bodies  together,  and  let  people  think  they 
had  killed  each  other?  But  you  didn't  do  it.  And 
now  we  want  a  scapegoat.  Where  can  we  find  the 
offering?"  After  an  impressive  pause  he  went  on: 
"  Who  was  at  the  scene  of  the  murder  about  the  time 
when  the  deed  was  done?  William  Manning.  You 
begin  to  comprehend  ?  You  shake  your  heads  and 
look  doubtful.  You  do  n't  understand  the  situation, 
gentlemen.  It  can  be  proved  that  Manning  was  at  the 
right  place  at  the  right  time.  If  necessary,  we  can 
make  a  little  evidence — nothing  easier.  Jimson,  you 
must  make  another  trip  to  the  swamp  to-night." 


THE  TRAGEDY  AT  THE  SWAMP.          453 

'•'I  can't  do  it,"  said  Jimson.  "I  'm  old,  and  can't 
stand  such  trips  as  I  could  twenty  or  thirty  years  ago. 
I  can't  go  there  again  to-night,  if  you  double  my  pay." 

"Some  one  must  go.  Manning  has  not  returned 
yet,  I  'm  sure.  So  I  believe  I  '11  go  to  his  office  and 
see  what  I  can  find.  I  want  to  show  myself  on  the 
street,  at  any  rate.  The  rest  of  you  can  wait  here  till 
I  come  back. " 

Sawtheaire  was  gone  not  over  ten  minutes,  and 
when  he  returned  there  was  a  srnile  of  self-congratula 
tion  on  his  face.  He  unbuttoned  his  double-breasted 
coat,  and  took  out  a  cane,  handkerchief  and  bundle  of 
papers,  and  laid  them  on  the  table.  Then  he  spoke 
very  deliberately. 

"These  are  Manning's.  How  did  I  get  into  the 
office?  I  got  in,  and  that  is  enough  for  you  to  know. 
In  the  corner  of  this  handkerchief  you  will  see  the 
name  of  William  Manning.  These  papers  are  legal 
documents  in  his  handwriting,  of  no  special  value  to 
anyone  else,  but  of  priceless  value  to  us  just  now.  This 
cane  belongs  to  the  gentleman  —  he  has  often  carried 
it,  and  everybody  about  town  knows  it.  Besides,  if 
you  will  look  at  this  plain,  metallic  plate  on  top,  you 
will  find  his  name  there.  Holly,  rub  some  of  the  blood 
off  ofthat  ear  on  this  cane,  will  you  ? — up  there  near 
the  top.  That  '11  do.  This  cane  is  heavy  enough  to 
fell  an  ox.  Now  this  oaken  club  must  be  dropped  in 
the  road  where  the  struggle  took  place ;  this  handker 
chief  must  be  stained  with  blood,  and  dropped  between 
that  place  and  the  body,  and  these  papers  must  be 
dropped  by  the  body,  as  if  they  had  fallen  from  Man 
ning's  pocket  while  bending  over  his  victim.  Now, 
who  '11  go  ?  What !  no  volunteer  ?  Then,  Mayor,  you 
must  go." 

"  O  mine  gracious,  no !  You  '11  haf  to  oxcuse  me  !  " 

"  You're  a  set  of  cowards — all  of  you.  Then  I  '11 
have  to  go  myself.  If  we  can  get  Manning  strung  up 
for  this,  he 's  out  of  the  way,  and  our  own  necks  are 
safe." 


454  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

Here  they  separated.  Holly  made  his  way  around 
to  the  back  room  of  his  saloon,  where  he  dressed  his 
wounded  ear  as  best  he  could,  resolving  on  seeking 
medical  aid  the  next  day,  with  the  explanation  that  he 
had  received  the  injury  from  the  accidental  discharge  of 
his  own  pistol. 

Jimson  visited  divers  saloons,  and  drank  freely,  de 
termined  to  make  reparation  for  the  time  lost  by  the 
abstemiousness  of  the  day.  Judging  from  the  faithful 
ness  with  which  he  applied  the  glass  to  his  lips,  there 
could  be  little  doubt  that  he  would  receive  his  usual 
daily  allowance  before  midnight.  He  seemed  to  have 
money,  and  to  spend  it  freely  in  treating,  an  unprece 
dented  thing  in  the  history  of  Joe  Jimson,  whose  prac 
tice  was  to  buy  for  himself  only,  or  to  beg  his  treats  by 
thrusting  himself  in  the  way  of  generous  friends. 

The  Mayor  stood  on  the  sidewalk,  at  a  loss  what  to 
say  or  where  to  go.  The  word  murderer  was  ringing 
in  his  ears,  and  he  could  not  free  himself  from  a  feeling 
of  oppression  in  the  vicinity  of  his  neck. 

Bechdold  returned  to  his  saloon  to  "make  some 
more  moneys ''  in  the  prosecution  of  his  honorable 
business. 

Sawtheaire  visited  the  scene  of  the  murder.  He 
had  received  from  Holly  such  a  description  of  the  place 
as  enabled  him  to  find  the  body  after  a  short  search. 
He  was  tempted  to  light  a  match,  that  he  might  look  at 
the  dead  man's  features.  He  listened,  but  heard  no 
sound.  His  curiosity  overcame  his  fear.  He  stooped 
down  over  the  body,  struck  a  match  on  his  pants,  and 
covered  the  light  with  his  hat.  Instantly  he  dropped 
the  match  into  the  water,  and  started  back  in  horror. 
For  a  moment  the  ghastly  picture  was  before  him : 
in  a  moment  it  was  gone.  Half  buried  in  the  slime 
and  water,  but  with  his  head  on  an  elevation  above  the 
water,  and  his  blood-stained  face  turned  upward,  lay 
the  body  of  Henry  Anderson.  To  say  that  Sawtheaire 
was  surprised  is  but  a  feeble  expression.  Henry  An 
derson  had  been  his  true  and  devoted  friend ;  but  for 


TkACJEDY   AT   THE   SWAMP.  45$ 

the  dead  man's  efforts,  he  would  have  been  defeated  in 
the  convention.  While  Sawtheaire  was  utterly  selfish 
and  unprincipled,  yet  he  was  horrified  at  finding  that 
the  victim  of  his  foul  conspiracy  was  the  man  who  had 
befriended  him  from  first  to  last.  "  It  can  't  be  helped 
now,"  he  said  to  himself.  "The  deed  is  done— fear 
fully  misdone — not  to  be  undone.  My  enemy  still  lives, 
and  my  faithful  friend  is  dead.  But  there  's  no  time  for 
moralizing.  I  '11  hasten  back  to  the  city,  and  hunt  for 
a  way  to  give  the  alarm  without  arousing  suspicion 
towards  myself  or  friends.  I  do  n't  want  him  left  lying 
in  this  dismal  place  any  longer." 

He  did  not  forget  to  drop  the  legal  documents  on 
Mr.  Anderson's  body,  or  to  drop  the  handkerchief  be 
tween  the  body  and  the  road,  or  to  throw  the  cane 
down  by  the  side  of  the  road. 

"  Manning  will  suffer  for  this,"  he  muttered,  seeming 
to  consider  Manning  responsible  for  Anderson's  death. 
"  I  'd  like  to  see  the  sheriff  choke  off  his  wind  with  all 
the  solemnity  of  a  lawful  hanging.  A  legal  execution 
beats  a  mob  hanging  for  punishment.  The  culprit  in 
such  a  case  dies  a  thousand  deaths  in  anticipation. 
That 's  the  way  I  want  Manning  done  up.  It  will  be 
rare  sport  to  see  the  fellow  flinch.  There  need  n't  be 
any  trouble  about  the  matter  either.  We  '11  have 
plenty  of  evidence.  The  well  known  feud  between 
him  and  Anderson  will  do  for  motive ;  his  ride  down 
this  road  to-night  and  the  finding  of  these  articles  of 
his  will  be  strong  circumstances  ;  and  wherever  the  evi 
dence  is  weak,  we  '11  have  to — well,  to  be  plain  with 
myself  about  it,  we'll  have  to  manufacture  it." 

Returning  to  the  city,  he  went  to  his  office,  where 
he  removed  all  traces  of  his  visit  to  the  swamp,  and 
then  he  walked  rapidly  to  Mr.  Anderson's  house. 
There,  standing  by  the  gate,  waiting  patiently  for  his 
master's  appearance,  was  the  riderless  horse.  This  af 
forded  a  sufficient  excuse  for  arousing  James.  He  ran 
up  to  the  house  and  knocked  loudly  on  the  door. 
There  being  no  sound  from  within,  he  continued  to 


456  A    SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

pound  the  door  violently  with  his  clenched  fist  till  the 
window  of  a  neighboring  house  was  raised,  and  some 
one  cried  out  in  a  shrill  voice:  "I  guess  there  ain't 
nobody  at  home !" 

By  this  time,  however,  James  had  become  dimly 
conscious  of  an  effort  on  the  part  of  some  one  to  batter 
down  the  house,  and  had  staggered  to  his  feet  and  then 
to  the  door. 

"  Hello  !"  he  cried.    "  What 's  wanted?" 

"I  was  passing  by,  and  found  your  horse  out  here 
at  the  gate,  saddled  and  bridled,  and  thought  you  might 
want  to  put  him  up !  Excuse  me  for  disturbing  you." 

"No  excuse  is  necessary.  I'm  much  obliged.  But 
hold  on,  Sawtheaire,  is  that  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Wait  a  minute  till  I  get  my  clothes  and  find  a 
lantern.  I  do  n't  understand  the  meaning  of  this — I  'm 
afraid  something  dreadful  has  happened." 

In  a  few  minutes  James  appeared  at  the  gate  with  a 
lantern.  He  examined  the  horse.  What  was  that 
dark  spot  on  its  neck  ?  and  that  other  one  on  the  sad 
dle  ?  He  rubbed  the  places  with  his  finger.  Blood  ? 
What  else  could  it  be  ?  He  was  now  thoroughly 
alarmed.  "O  my  poor  father!"  he  cried.  "What 
can  have  happened  ?  Sawtheaire,  rouse  the  neighbors  ! 
Quick,  for  God's  sake !  He  had  money  with  him ! 
I  warned  him  not  to  go,  but  he  would  go,  and  now  I 
fear  he  has  been  killed." 

Some  of  the  neighbors  had  already  heard  enough 
to  rouse  them  from  sleep  for  the  remainder  of  the 
night.  Soon  there  was  a  crowd  of  wondering,  specu 
lating  and  sympathizing  men  gathered  around  the  horse, 
taking  observations  and  asking  a  great  many  questions. 

"  How  did  you  come  to  find  the  horse  here  ?"  asked 
one  of  them,  turning  to  Sawtheaire. 

"Why,  I  had  worked  late  at  the  office,"  he 
answered;  "and  felt  too  tired  and  too  wide  awake  for 
sleep — a  strange  mixture,  but  a  lawyer  understands  it — 
and  so  I  thought  I  would  walk  till  I  became  drowsy. 


THE  TRAGEDY  AT  THE  SWAMP.          457 

I  strolled  down  this  walk,  and  found  this  horse  standing 
by  the  sidewalk.  I  felt  curious  enough  to  ascertain 
whether  the  horse  was  tied,  and  finding  it  wasn't, 
roused  James  that  he  might  take  care  of  the  beast. 
That's  the  way  I  came  to  find  the  horse  here." 

' '  Let 's  do  something  !  Let 's  get  to  work !"  cried 
another.  "Anderson  may  be  hurt  or  dead  on  the 
road  somewhere.  He  may  have  been  thrown  from  his 
horse  or  murdered.  May  be  he  needs  help  at  this 
minute!" 

A  company  was  soon  organized,  and  set  forth  with 
lanterns,  team  and  wagon,  to  search  the  route  which 
Mr.  Anderson  had  taken  the  evening  before.  In  this 
wagon  was  one  of  the  murderers,  who  knew  just  where 
the  body  was  lying,  and  through  what  a  terrible  mis 
take  the  deed  had  been  done,  and  yet  he  professed  to 
believe  that  there  was  but  little  occasion  for  anxiety. 
He  could  hardly  think  it  possible  that  any  act  of  vio 
lence  had  been  done.  The  blood  on  the  horse's  neck 
and  saddle  might  be  accounted  for  without  supposing 
any  severe  accident  had  happened  to  Mr.  Anderson. 
It  might  not  be  blood  at.all.  Or,  if  it  was,  Anderson's 
nose  might  have  bled,  or  he  might  have  hurt  his  hand. 
They  would  probably  find  the  object  of  their  anxious 
thoughts  sleeping  peacefully  at  Mr.  Murphy's,  and 
bring  back  some  satisfactory  explanation  of  the  return 
of  the  horse  to  the  city,  saddled  and  bridled,  and 
without  a  rider.  Then  he  thought:  "You'll  find  an 
explanation,  but  it  will  be  far  from  satisfactory." 

By  the  light  of  their  lanterns  they  eagerly  scanned 
the  highway  for  evidence  of  an  accident  or  struggle. 
They  reached  the  swamp  without  finding  anything 
worthy  of  attention.  Here,  one  of  the  party  proposed 
that  some  of  them  take  lanterns  and  go  in  advance  of 
the  wagon,  and  make  a  thorough  examination  of  the 
weeds  and  rushes  on  each  side  of  the  narrow  roadway. 
' '  This  would  be  a  fine  place  for  robbery  and  murder 
on  a  dark  night, "said  another.  "In  an.  early  day," 
said  a  third,  "a  dreadful  murder  was  committed  in  this 


A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

very  place.  I  was  just  a  chunk  of  a  boy  at  the  time, 
but  I  remember  to  this  day  the  particulars  of  the 
terrible  deed.  And  they  never  caught  the  murderer, 
nor  found  the  slightest  clew  to  indicate  who  the  crimi 
nal  was." 

"Ah  !  come  here,  boys — quick  !  "  cried  Sawtheaire, 
who  was  in  advance  of  the  others.  He  had  picked  up 
and  was  examining  something  which  looked  like  a  cane. 
They  crowded  around  him  and  examined  the  cane  one 
by  one.  It  was  stained  with  blood.  "Do  you  know 
that  cane ?"  asked  Sawtheaire.  "I've  seen  Manning- 
carry  it  a  hundred  times.  It 's  his  cane.  Yes,  there  's 
his  name  on  the  plate  on  top  of  it.  This  may  mean 
something.  It  may  be  a  clew  to  the  m — m — mystery 
Remember,  I  found  it  right  here."  He  tramped  the 
ground  with  his  heels  so  that  they  could  find  the  spot 
again. 

"Hark,"  said  Sawtheaire,  softly,  "I  thought  I. 
heard  a  voice!  "  He  laid  his  hand  impressively  on  the 
arm  of  James  Anderson.  Conversation  ceased,  and 
with  bated  breath  all  listened.  True  enough,  there 
was  a  strange  noise  to  be  heard.  It  was  half  groan,  half 
sigh,  almost  inarticulate,  as  if  the  lips  from  which  it 
proceeded  were  almost  past  even  the  faintest  utterance. 
Almost  paralyzed  with  fear,  the  bravest  of  the  crowd 
stood  for  a  moment  irresolute,  and  then  they  sprang 
forward.  The  foremost  man  fell  back  with  a  cry  of 
horror,  and  in  his  agitation  threw  up  his  hands  and 
dropped  his  lantern  into  the  slime.  There  lay  the  ob 
ject  of  their  search.  He  was  not  yet  dead  then !  Cer 
tainly  not,  if  the  groan  had  come  from  him.  They 
lifted  up  the  body,  and  bore  it  to  the  wagon.  One  of 
them  picked  up  the  legal  documents,  and  another  the 
handkerchief.  These  were  passed  from  hand  to  hand 
and  critically  examined. 

"Save  that  cane,  and  that  handkerchief,  and  those 
papers  !"  cried  Sawtheaire.  "I  want  them  to  help 
bring  the  bloody  murderer  to  the  gallows.  They  're 
important  evidence." 


THE  TRAGEDY  AT  THE  SWAMP.          459 

"  Can  it  be  possible  ?  "  said  one.    "  Can  it  be  possi 
ble?     Can  it  be  that  William  Manning  would  do  such 
a  deed  as  this  ?  " 

"  It  looks  that  way  now,"  observed  another.  "  He 
bore  Anderson  a  grudge — 1  know  that." 

' '  I  would  n't  put  it  past  him, "  said  a  third.  ' '  I  never 
had  any  confidence  in  that  fellow.  Too  much  mystery 
about  him  to  suit  me." 

At  the  first  sight  of  his  murdered  father,  James  sank 
back  into  the  arms  of  two  men  who  were  behind  him. 
They  lifted  him  up  and  bore  him  to  the  wagon.  The 
ghastly  spectacle,  the  impenetrable  gloom,  the  slimy 
resting-place  of  the  dying  man,  the  suddenness  of  the 
revelation,  the  recollection  of  his  unfilial  words  and  acts, 
the  feeling  that  no  true  sympathizer  was  near,  combined 
to  overcome  the  strong  nerves  of  the  sturdy  youth 
until  the  procession  had  traveled  half  the  distance  to 
the  city.  Then  kind  friends  endeavored  to  comfort  him, 
while  he  refused  to  be  comforted.  They  held  out  to 
him  the  fact  that  life  was  not  yet  extinct,  as  a  founda 
tion  for  hope  of  a  possible  recovery.  But  he  was  not 
to  be  deceived  thus ;  and  when  his  father  was  carried 
into  the  house,  it  was  with  the  firm  belief  on  the  part 
of  the  son  that  the  next  move  would  be  to  the  city  of 
the  dead. 

The  following  telegram  was  forwarded  to  Mrs. 
Anderson  : 

"  Father  is  badly  hurt.  Come  home  at  once,  both  of  you.  Be  pre 
pared  for  the  worst.  JAMES  ANDERSON." 

Doctors  were  sent  for,  and  an  examination  of  the 
body  immediately  made.  They  ascertained  that  Mr. 
Anderson  was  not  dead ;  but  they  asserted  that  his 
wounds  were  necessarily  mortal.  They  thought  it 
possible  to  restore  him  to  consciousness  before  death, 
and  hoped  to  be  able  to  keep  the  vital  flame  in  his 
body  till  the  arrival  of  the  wife  and  daughter. 

"  It  will  soften  the  blow  a  little  if  they  can  only  see 
him  alive,"  sobbed  James  as  he  held  his  father's  irre 
sponsive  hand. 


460  A    SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

Mr.  Anderson's  pocketbook,  containing  the  five  hun 
dred  dollars  intended  for  Mr.  Murphy,  was  found,  un 
disturbed,  on  his  person.  So  were  his  watch  and  chain. 
It  was  manifest  he  had  not  been  assaulted  for  robbery. 

Three  severe,  contused  wounds  were  found  upon  his 
head.  The  deed  had  evidently  been  done  with  a  heavy, 
blunt  weapon.  There  were  scratches  and  bruises  on 
his  hands,  and  rents  in  his  clothes,  showing  that  he  had 
not  yielded  without  a  struggle. 

"There  is  absolutely  no  hope  of  saving  his  life," 
said  the  doctors  to  James.  "  We  hope  he  may  have  a 
few  minutes  of  consciousness,  that  he  may  tell  the  par 
ticulars  of  this  crime,  and  bid  his  family  farewell.  That 
is  as  much  as  we  dare  hope  for,  and  more  than  we  can 
promise." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE   FIRST    GRAVE. 

On  Thursday  afternoon  Mrs.  Anderson  and  Katie 
returned  to  Wellington.  It  was  a  cold,  cheerless, 
rainy  day,  in  keeping  with  the  hopelessness  of  their 
hearts.  The  telegram  which  they  had  received  had 
given  them  to  understand  that  Mr.  Anderson's  condi 
tion  was  critical,  but  beyond  this  they  had  received  no 
information.  The  peremptory  summons  to  come 
home,  the  statement,  "  Be  prepared  for  the  worst," 
forced  them  to  the  unwilling  belief  that  they  would 
never  see  their  loved  one  alive  again.  "  Be  prepared 
for  the  worst  " — that  must  mean  death,  they  thought. 
With  sleepless  anxiety  and  deepest  grief  they  sat  in 
silence  side  by  side,  as  the  train  whirled  them  along 
homeward — in  silence,  save  when  the  grief  of  the  elder 
woman  found  expression  at  times  in  choking  sobs — in 
silence,  save  when  the  younger  sought  to  cheer  the 
elder  with  a  few  words  of  hope  which  even  she  herself 
felt  to  be  wholly  unfounded.  When  they  stepped  from 
the  train  to  the  platform,  James  met  them  with  wraps 
and  umbrellas  to  shield  them  from  the  dashing  rain. 
To  their  eager  inquiry  as  he  helped  them  to  the  omni 
bus,  he  answered:  "Alive,  and  that  is  all."  On  the 
way  home  he  gave  them  the  particulars  of  the  assassi 
nation  as  far  as  they  were  known.  He  told  them  that 
his  father  had  appeared  to  be  conscious  at  times,  and  had 
even  spoken  a  few  rational  words,  and  that  the  doctors 
were  hopeful  he  might  yet  rally  sufficiently  to  recog 
nize  the  members  of  his  family  and  to  relate  the  cir 
cumstances  of  the  assault. 

The  mother  and  daughter  were  worn  out  with  anx 
iety  and  fatigue,  and  had  to  be  supported  from  the  gate 
to  the  house.  They  sought  at  once  the  bedside  of  the 

unconscious  man.    Their  grief  was  inconsolable.    They 

461 


A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

reproached  themselves  for  having  left  home.  If  they 
had  not  gone,  they  said,  this  terrible  calamity  would 
not  have  darkened  their  lives.  "O  my  God  !  what  will 
I  do  ?  what  will  I  do  ?  "  groaned  Mrs.  Anderson,  chafing 
her  husband's  hands  and  vainly  endeavoring  to  rouse  in 
him  some  consciousness  of  her  presence.  "  O  my  dear 
husband!  Speak  to  me!  Look  at  me  once  more  !  Don't 
you  know  me?  Don't  you  know  your  Mary?  I've 
come  back,  darling  !  Don't  you  know  I'm  here?  O 
my  Father !  have  mercy  !  have  mercy !  "  But  her  hus 
band  responded  not  to  her  tender  words  and  passionate 
grief.  He  lay  there  as  a  dead  man,  unconscious  of  his 
surroundings.  Only  his  feeble  breathing  and  the  feeble 
pulsation  of  his  heart  indicated  that  the  spirit  yet  lin 
gered  in  the  body. 

Throughout  the  afternoon  there  was  no  change  in 
the  dying  man's  condition  except  a  manifest  decrease 
of  strength,  and  the  doctors,  after  consultation,  stated 
that  he  would  probably  pass  away  during  the  night. 
They  decided  at  last  to  administer  some  powerful  med 
icines  to  rouse  him  from  his  stupor  if  possible,  that  his 
family  might  have  the  consolation  of  a  few  parting 
words.  Their  efforts  for  a  while  proved  ineffectual, 
but  in  the  course  of  time  his  breathing  became  more 
natural  and  his  pulse  stronger.  Presently  he  opened 
his  eyes  and  stared  around  him  with  a  vacant  and  un 
certain  look. 

"  Where  am  I  ?  "  he  whispered  with  marked  effort. 
"  What  does  this  mean?  Ah!  you  scoundrels  !"  he 
cried,  trying  to  raise  himself  up  in  bed,  and  glaring  at 
the  wall  in  terror.  "There  !  there !  THERE  !  "  he  almost 
shrieked,  pointing  at  the  figures  on  the  wall-paper. 
"You  '11  kill  me,  will  you  ?  You  '11  rob  me,  will  you  ? 
Help  [murder!  help  !  quick  !  You'll  kill  me — you'll 
kill — kill — "  He  sank  down  exhausted  on  his  pillow. 

"  I  fear  he  is  hopelessly  irrational,"  said  one  of  the 
doctors. 

"Let  us  rouse  him  once  more,  if  we  can,"  said  the 
other,  "and  then  trust  to  Providence  for  the  rest." 


THE    FIRST    GRAVE.  463 

They  forced  a  powerful  stimulant  into  his  mouth,  and 
with  difficulty  he  swallowed  part  of  it. 

Soon  afterwards  he  opened  his  eyes  again.  This 
time  there  was  no  wildness  in  his  expression,  but  the 
calm,  invincible  determination  which  had  looked  out 
from  his  soul  in  days  of  old. 

"Come,  Mary,"  he  said,  speaking  slowly  and  with 
difficulty,  but  with  an  unclouded  intellect.  He  looked 
at  his  wife  tenderly  and  lovingly.  He  tried  to  raise  his 
arms  to  her  neck,  but  could  not  until  James  assisted 
him.  As  she  kissed  him  and  wept  over  him  he  sought 
to  comfort  her,  but  his  strength  failed  him  again,  and 
his  words  became  inarticulate.  He  looked  pitifully 
towards  the  doctors,  and  when  they  brought  him  more 
of  the  stimulant  he  swallowed  it  with  avidity.  His 
strength  seemed  to  return,  and  he  spoke  again  in  broken 
sentences : 

' '  I  used — to  belong — to  the  church — when  young. 
Do  you  think — think  God — can  forgive  me — me  ?  I  Ve 
been  very — wicked.  Strong  drink  has  cursed  me — 
cursed  me — and  my  family.  Mary,  forgive  me — won't 
you,  darling?  Katie — where  is  my  Katie?  Katie — • 
forgive  me — I  don't  hate  him — now."  His  breathing 
became  labored,  and  he  struggled  for  some  time  before 
he  was  able  to  go  on  again.  "  Katie,"  he  said,  looking 
at  her  appealingly,  "forgive  me.  Love  him — marry 
him — and  be  happy.  James — son — let  liquor  alone — 
as  you  would — a  viper.  Be  a — good  man.  Do  n't  live 
— like  me.  Mary — darling — kiss  me  good-bye." 

With  kisses  and  sobs  and  tears,  they  vowed  there 
was  nothing  to  forgive.  If  Mrs.  Anderson  had  felt  her 
husband's  unkindness  at  times,  and  had  reproached  him 
in  her  heart  for  angry  words  and  cruel  blows  unjustly 
given,  she  was  in  no  mood  now  to  indulge  in  reproach 
es  and  unkind  recollections.  She  had  reproaches  now 
for  none  but  herself.  The  bitterness  of  the  past  was 
all  forgotten  ;  only  the  sweetness  of  its  loving  kindness 
remained.  And  if  she  could  thus  forgive,  surely  the 
Heavenly  Father  could  do  the  same, 


4^4  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"Yes,  God  will  forgive  you,  Henry,"  she  said. 
"  Pray  to  Him.  Rely  on  Him.  He  is  far  more  tender 
and  forgiving  than  mortal  beings  can  ever  be.  But  O 
Henry !  Henry  !  Dearest  husband  !  I  can  't  give  you 
up!  No,  no,  I  can't  give  you  up!"  And  her  grief 
broke  forth  afresh. 

If  Katie  had  felt  that  her  father  had  been  unkind 
and  tyrannical  toward  her  in  her  love  for  William  Man 
ning,  and  she  had  thought  so,  many  and  many  a  time, 
she  did  not  think  or  feel  so  now  as  she  sat  by  the  bed 
side  and  saw  his  life  so  surely  ebbing  away.  No,  no, 
he  was  not  unkind,  she  thought,  he  only  sought  to  pro 
mote  my  happiness ;  while  I  was  blind  and  willful,  turn 
ing  my  heart  away  from  my  best  friend  to  an  unworthy 
deceiver.  Arid  so  she  wept  and  shuddered,  as  the 
young  do  who  have  not  often  witnessed  the  terrible 
tragedy  of  death. 

A  minister  was  sent  for ;  a  quiet,  godly  man  whose 
business  it  was  to  visit  the  house  of  grief  in  the  time 
of  man's  extremity,  often  without  even  a  kind  word  in 
return  for  his  self-sacrificing  ministration ;  who  knelt  by 
the  bedside  on  this  occasion,  'and  in  earnest,  fervid 
words,  sent  up  to  the  throne  of  grace  in  Henry  Ander 
son's  behalf  a  prayer  of  confession,  of  penitence,  of 
hopefulness  for  the  future,  pleading  feelingly  the  tender 
promises  of  the  Gospel  for  one  who  had  wandered 
away  and  was  striving  at  the  last  to  come  back  to  the 
fold. 

After  the  good  man  had  gone,  Mr.  Anderson  re 
lapsed  once  more  into  a  stupor.  He  was, aroused  by 
the  whistle  of  an  incoming  train.  "  What's  that?"  he 
asked  eagerly.  He  was  told  that  it  was  the  evening 
train.  "What  day — is  this?"  he  inquired,  this  time 
with  a  puzzled  expression.  They  told  him  it  was 
Thursday.  "  Thursday  ?"  he  said.  "Thursday?  Then 
it  is  well.  It 's  all  right  now — all  right.  Wake  me 
again — when  she  comes!" 

"He  refers  to  Miss  Oakford,"  said  James.  "  We 
heard  last  Monday  that  she  would  be  here  to-day," 


THE    FIRST    GRAVE.  465 

Henry  Anderson  had  sunk  again  into  unconscious 
ness. 

About  an  hour  afterwards  the  door  opened  softly,  so 
softly  as  not  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  watchers  at 
the  bedside,  and  a  delicate  woman  came  in  from  the 
drenching  storm  without,  and  quietly  removed  her 
waterproof  and  rubbers.  Mrs.  Anderson  was  sitting 
with  her  face  in  one  hand  while  the  other  was  resting 
on  her  husband's  brow,  when  she  felt  a  gentle  arm  en 
circle  her  waist  and  the  pressure  of  soft  lips  failing 
tenderly  on  her  forehead.  She  bowed  her  head  upon 
the  bed  and  sobbed  convulsively,  while  that  sympa 
thetic  arm  followed  her;  and  she  needed  not  that  any 
should  tell  her  whose  arm  it  was.  She  sobbed  and 
moaned  till  the  storm  of  grief  had  spent  its  force,  and 
then  arose  greatly  strengthened  to  greet  Elizabeth  and 
to  rest  her  weakness  on  the  younger  woman's  unfailing 
strength.  Even  with  the  angel  of  death  on  the  thresh 
old,  a  feeling  almost  akin  to  hope  came  into  the  hearts 
of  the  occupants  of  this  house  with  the  coming  of 
Elizabeth  Oakford. 

Later  in  the  evening  Marion  Spence  came  to  assist 
in  keeping  watch  over  the  dying  man.  Mr.  Anderson 
lay  quiet  till  midnight,  even  his  breathing  being 
scarcely  perceptible  at  times.  The  clock  had  just 
ceased  striking  twelve  when  there  was  a  spasmodic 
movement  of  his  body,  and  his  eyes  opened  once  more. 
With  surprising  strength  he  raised  himself  up  on  his 
elbow  and  asked : 

"Has  she  come?" 

"Yes,  father,"  answered  James. 

"It  is  well,"  he  said.  "  It 's  all  right  now.  I  can 
trust  her. ' ' 

James  and  Marion  Spence  took  hold  of  him  to 
sustain  him  in  his  partly  elevated  position. 

"Who  is  this?"  he  asked,  looking  at  Spence. 
"Why,  this  is  Mr.  Spence,  of  course,"  he  added. 
"That  is  good.  I  believe  I  can  trust  him.  James, — 
let  me — lie  down — quick!" 


466  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

They  laid  him  down  on  the  pillow.  After  a  few 
minutes,  he  seemed  to  grow  stronger  again. 

"James,"  he  said,  "get  paper — and  pen— I 've 
something  to  say — quick — before  I  'm  gone  !  Take  it 
down — every  word  !  I  want  Spence — and  Elizabeth — 
for  witnesses.  Quick,  son — it 's  important — very  im 
portant!" 

James  brought  writing  material  and  sat  down  by 
the  bed. 

"Shut  the  door — Spence.  Is  there  anybody  here 
— except  you  three  ?" 

"No,  father,"  said  James. 

"Where  is  Elizabeth?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

"  Here  I  am,"  she  answered,  laying  her  hand  upon 
his  brow. 

He  seemed  to  take  no  further  notice  of  her,  but 
asked  anxiously  :  "Have  they  found — the  robbers?" 

"They  were  not  robbers,  father.  Your  money  was 
not  taken ;  neither  was  your  watch  nor  chain.  It  was 
cold-blooded  assassination." 

"  Who  is — suspected  ?  " 

' '  Why,  all  the  circumstances  seem  to  point  to 
William  Manning." 

"  Then  it  was  n't — a  dream.  I  hoped  it  was — a 
dream.  I  thought — I  heard — some  one — say  that — to 
day.  But  I  hoped  it  was — a  dream.  Poor  Manning  is 
— not  guilty."  He  uttered  the  last  sentence  slowly 
and  emphatically. 

"Why,  so  I  would  have  said,  father;  but  the  cir 
cumstances  are  strong  against  him.  I  don't  see  how 
he  can  escape." 

"He  must — escape;  yes,  he  must — escape.  He  is 
not  guilty.  What  circumstances — are  against  him  ? 
Tell  me  all.  I  feel  strong — now.'' 

' '  Why,  they  say,  in  the  first  place,  that  he  bore 
you  a  grudge,  and  you  quarreled  on  the  street  the  day 
this  assassination  took  place.  They  say  he  passed  along 
the  road  where  you  were  assaulted  about  the  time  of 
the  assault.  His  horse  came  back  the  next  day  with- 


THE    FIRST    GRAVE.  467 

out  him,  and  no  one  has  heard  of  him  since.  They 
claim  to  have  found  his  cane  in  the  road  where  you 
were  struck,  and  also  to  have  found  near  your  body  a 
handkerchief  and  some  papers  belonging  to  him.  The 
whole  case  is  very  dark  for  him,  as  far  as  I  can  learn. 
If  he  should  be  caught  now,  he  would  be  lynched. 
The  feeling  against  him  is  bitter." 

"Manning  is — not  guilty,"  said  the  sufferer.  "I 
see  more  clearly  now.  Elizabeth,  you  know — he  's  in 
nocent. " 

"  I  'm  sure  of  it,"  she  answered. 

"  He  's  not  the  murderer.  Son,  I  'm  bound  to  die. 
What  do — the  doctors  say?  There  is — no  hope?" 

James  answered,  in  a  broken  voice,  that  there  was 
no  hope. 

"I  was — certain  of  it.  Spence,  do  you  hear? 
Elizabeth  ?  I  've  given  up — all  hope — all.  I  know — 
I  'm  bound — to  die." 

There  was  no  answer. 

"  You  must  hear — all  of  you — what  I  say,"  he  con 
tinued,  struggling  to  raise  himself  up.  "I  knew  a 
case — like  this  once.  Unless  I  've  given  up — all  hope 
— what  I  say — can  't  be  used." 

They  assured  him  that  they  had  heard  his  every 
word. 

"Then,  James,  write  down — all  I  say.  Quick! 
my  strength  begins — begins  to  fail.  I  was — about  half 
way — across  the  swamp — when  somebody — seized — 
seized — my  bridle — and  stopped  my  horse.  I  was 
struck — struck  on  the  head,  and — and  dragged — from 
the  saddle.  .There  were — two  men.  Do  you — hear 
me — Elizabeth  ?  Put  it  down,  James — two  men.  Wait 
a  minute — till  my  breath — comes  back. " 

Presently  he  resumed : 

"Where  was  I?  Two?  Two?  Yes,  there  were 
two.  I  knocked  one — down — and  the  other — struck 
me,  and  that  is  all — all  that  I  remember.  James — write 
down — that  I  say — neither  of  them — was  Manning." 

"  But,  father,  who  were  they?  " 


468  A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

"I  don't  know." 

"Then  how  do  you  know  neither  of  them  was 
Manning?" 

"They  both  had  beard.  Underscore  that.  They 
— both — had—beard.  I  felt — their  beard — in  the  strug 
gle." 

"  Might  you  not  be  mistaken  about  that,  father?  " 

"  No,  no  ;  I  'm  not  mistaken.  Keep  that  writing — 
say  nothing  about  it — not  to  a  soul — unless  yow  find — 
you  can  help — Manning — then  use  it.  He  is  not 
guilty  —  not  guilty.  Ah  !  there  they  are  !  there  ! 
THERE!  "  he  shrieked,  pointing  to  the  wall,  and  becom 
ing  suddenly  delirious.  With  unnatural  strength  he 
raised  himself  in  his  bed.  They  seized  him  and  held 
him  with  difficulty.  In  a  short  time  his  strength  gave 
way,  his  limbs  relaxed,  and  he  sank  back  upon  the  bed. 
There  were  two  or  three  feeble  flutterings  of  the  heart, 
and  he  was  dead. 

Then  followed  the  days  and  nights  of  watching  and 
of  preparation  for  the  funeral.  The  coroner  came 
with  his  jury  and  held  the  usual  inquest.  Under  the 
solemn  charge  of  the  dying  man,  the  three  custodians 
of  his  last  words  considered  it  their  duty  to  withhold 
from  the  public  for  the  present  his  strange  dying 
declarations.  On  the  evidence  heard  at  the  inquest, 
the  jury  found  that  Henry  Anderson  had  been  mur 
dered,  and  that  William  Manning  was  the  murderer, 
and  should  be  apprehended  and  punished  for  the  crime. 

On  Saturday  afternoon  the  funeral  services  were 
held  in  the  presence  of  a  large  concourse  of  interested 
citizens  and  friends,  the  body  of  the  deceased  was  low 
ered  into  the  grave,  the  broken-hearted  widow  and 
children  returned  to  their  comfortless  home,  and  anoth 
er  book  was  closed. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

LIMPING   JUSTICE. 

For  weeks  after  the  death  of  Henry  Anderson  the 
circumstances  attending  the  horrible  tragedy  formed 
the  principal  theme  for  gossip  and  speculation  in  and 
about  Wellington.  Not  a  breath  of  suspicion  was 
directed  towards  Sawtheaire,  or  Holly,  or  Jimson,  or 
Trinkenviellager,  or  Bechdold.  It  was  the  almost  uni 
versal  verdict  that  Manning  had  done  the  deed,  and 
that  while  his  devilish  spirit  had  been  kept  under  sub 
jection  during  his  residence  at  Wellington,  nevertheless 
he  must  have  been  a  murderer  from  the  beginning. 

Great  anxiety  was  manifested,  for  the  apprehension 
and  conviction  of  the  assassin.  None  were  more  earn 
estly  desirous  of  the  vindication  of  the  law  than  Saw 
theaire  and  Holly.  In  fact,  it  was  Sawtheaire  who 
suggested  to  divers  worthy  and  law-abiding  citizens 
that  a  meeting  should  be  called  for  the  purpose  .of  de 
nouncing  the  criminal,  and  raising  a  fund  as  an  award 
for  his  arrest  and  conviction.  The  proposition  met  with 
general  approval,  and  the  meeting  was  called  and  held 
at  the  court-house  the  week  following  the  burial  of 
Henry  Anderson. 

Long  before  the  time  for  the  opening  of  the  meet 
ing  had  arrived  the  court-room  was  packed  with  men, 
women  and  children.  Promptly  at  half  past  seven 
o'clock,  the  Mayor  arose  and  nominated  Lyman  Saw 
theaire  for  chairman,  which  nomination  was  supported 
by  Harvey  Holly,  and  met  with  no  opposition.  Mr. 
Sawtheaire,  on  taking  the  chair,  said  that  he  regretted 
he  had  not  known  that  he  would  be  called  upon  to  pre 
side  over  this  great  meeting,  so  that  he  might  have 
accumulated  words  expressive  of  his  feelings  concerning 
the  horrible  crime  which  had  been  so  fiendishly  com 
mitted  on  one  of  the  most  peaceful  and  inoffensive  men 

469 


A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

of  the  community.  It  was  such  a  crime  as  to  demand 
from  every  faithful  citizen  an  honest  effort  for  the  vindi 
cation  of  the  law  thus  flagrantly  violated  and  trampled 
upon.  The  speaker  was  ready  to  subscribe  liberally  to 
a  fund  to  be  held  for  any  one  who  should  be  instru 
mental  in  bringing  the  criminal  to  justice.  Society  must 
be  protected  against  red-handed  murderers,  and  the  only 
way  to  insure  such  protection  was  to  make  the  punish 
ment  of  the  offenders  a  swift  and  awful  certainty. 

Great  excitement  prevailed  in  the  meeting.  Many 
feeling  and  inflammatory  speeches  were  made.  It  was 
resolved  to  offer  a  reward  of  five  hundred  dollars  for 
the  conviction  of  the  murderer.  Sawtheaire  and  Holly 
were  among  the  most  liberal  of  the  contributors  to  the 
fund.  They  did  not  deem  it  necessary  to  state  that 
their  subscriptions  were  paid  with  money  wrung  from 
the  purse  of  the  reluctant  Bechdold. 

Among  those  present  at  the  meeting  were  James 
Anderson  and  Marion  Spence.  Theirs  was  indeed  a 
strange  situation.  They,  with  Elizabeth  Oakford,  were 
the  guardians  of  Henry  Anderson's  declarations,  which 
exculpated  Manning  from  all  guilt.  Either  he  was  an  in 
nocent  man,  or  Mr.  Anderson  was  mistaken.  And  yet, on 
the  other  hand,  every  circumstance  pointed  to  the  miss 
ing  lawyer  as  the  murderer.  James  Anderson  and  Marion 
Spence  and  Elizabeth  Oakford  were  in  grave  doubt  as  to 
what  course  they  ought  to  pursue — whether  they  should 
publish  their  secret  to  the  world,  or  obey  the  com 
mand  of  Mr.  Anderson  to  withhold  it  from  the  public 
till  it  should  be  needed  for  Manning's  defense.  The 
publication  of  the  statement  might  relieve  Manning 
from  suspicion  at  Wellington,  at  least  with  those  who 
had  been  his  friends,  and  cause  investigation  to  be 
turned  in  some  other  direction,  and  result  in  the  ulti 
mate  apprehension  of  the  real  criminal ;  whereas,  the 
general  belief  that  he  was  the  man  would  tend  to  pre 
vent  further  inquiry  until  important  clews  would  be  lost, 
and  material  evidence  might  be  suppressed.  Marion 
Spence  went  to  a  distant  city  and  consulted  a  lawyer 


LIMPING   JUSTICE.  4/1 

on  the  subject  of  dying  declarations  generally,  without 
giving  names,  and  was  informed  that  such  declarations 
were  not  available  in  the  interest  of  a  defendant,  but 
were  admissible  only  on  the  part  of  the  people.  He 
reported  what  he  had  learned  to  Miss  Oakford  and 
James  Anderson.  They  decided  not  to  publish  Mr. 
Anderson's  statement,  but  keep  their  secret,  and  wait 
for  further  developments.  They  subscribed  to  the  fund 
which  was  for  the  conviction  of  the  guilty  and  not  the 
innocent,  with  the  hope  that  the  real  offender  would  be 
brought  to  justice,  and  the  innocent  would  be  relieved 
of  every  unjust  accusation. 

Night  after  night  the  citizens  of  Wellington  gathered 
together  in  little  groups  in  the  stores  and  upon  the  side 
walks,  for  the  discussion  of  the  subject  of  murder  in 
general,  and  of  the  murder  of  Henry  Anderson  in  par 
ticular.  But  as  time  wore  on,  and  the  political  battle 
became  hotter,  the  murder  lost  its  interest  for  the  street 
gossip,  and  the  political  situation  became  the  theme  of 
general  conversation.  The  first  Tuesday  of  November 
was  drawing  near,  and  the  battle  for  political  supremacy 
was  waxing  exceedingly  fierce.  Would  it  be  Tilden  or 
Hayes  ?  Who  would  be  governor  ?  Who  senator,  cir 
cuit  clerk,  State's  attorney  ?  Each  party  was  insisting 
that  the  preservation  of  the  American  government  de 
pended  on  its  success.  With  grandiloquent  speeches 
radiating  from  the  platform,  with  banners  and  trans 
parencies  moving  up  and  down  the  streets,  even  an  ex 
traordinary  murder  could  not  hold  the  public  attention 
for  any  considerable  period  of  time.  It  was  not  long, 
therefore,  till  the  murder  of  Henry  Anderson  was  almost 
forgotten  in  the  general  interest  of  the  people  in  the 
campaign. 

But  Lyman  Sawtheaire  and  Harvey  Holly  did  not 
forget  that  court  would  convene  in  October,  or  that  the 
grand  jury  would  be  appointed  at  the  approaching 
meeting  of  the  board  of  supervisors.  There  were  co 
gent  reasons,  in  their  estimation,  why  the  grand  jurors 
should  be  opposed  to  the  enforcement  of  the  dram- 


472  A    SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

shop  act,  and  also  why  they  should  be  warm  personal 
friends  of  Lyman  Sawtheaire.  And  what  difference 
could  that  make  ?  Would  not  men,  acting  under  their 
oaths,  indict  the  guilty  notwithstanding  their  personal 
opposition  to  the  law?  Not  necessarily.  The  oaths 
and  consciences  of  some  grand  jurors  have  the  remark 
able  properties  of  India  rubber  when  the  dram-shop  act 
is  under  consideration.  For  instance,  they  can  investi 
gate  all  other  charges  first,  and  then,  under  a  sudden 
attack  of  economical  fever,  decide  that  further  expense 
should  not  be  entailed  upon  the  county,  the  dear 
county,  by  the  prolongation  of  their  session,  and  re 
port  to  the  court  that  there  is  no  further  business  be 
fore  them,  and  be  discharged.  Or  they  may  make  a 
very  happy  construction  of  their  oaths,  holding,  as  a 
certain  grand  jury  actually  did,  once  upon  a  time,  that 
the  witnesses  against  the  dram-shop  are  actuated  by 
malice,  and  that,  having  sworn  they  would  present  no 
one  through  malice,  it  is  their  duty  to  refuse  to  indict, 
even  though  the  violation  of  the  law,  malice  or  no 
malice,  is  proved  te-n  times  over.  Or  the  learned 
gentlemen  may  decide  that  these  are  local  offenses,  and 
that  local  offenses  should  be  prosecuted  where  they 
arise,  and  not  be  brought  under  the  cognizance  of  the 
circuit  courts,  well  knowing,  at  the  same  time,  that 
the  prosecution  and  conviction  of  these  mighty  poli 
ticians  in  their  own  bailiwicks,  before  justices  of  the 
peace  whom  they  have  elected,  is  as  difficult  as  the 
manufacture  of  sugar  out  of  gourds.  Why  not  these 
excuses  as  well  as  any  others  ?  If  a  man  is  bent  on 
doing  or  not  doing  some  particular  thing,  he  feels  that 
he  ought  to  assign  some  reason  for  his  course ;  and 
when  he  does  so,  he  imagines  that  no  one  save  himself 
has  the  faintest  suspicion  that  the  reason  assigned  is  not 
the  real  one. 

But  moralizing  on  this  question  does  not  change  the 
fact.  Certain  it  is  that  Sawtheaire  understood  the 
modus  operandi  of  getting  a  grand  jury  to  his  liking. 
When  the  board  of  supervisors  adjourned  and  the  list 


LIMPING   JUSTICE.  473 

of  grand  jurors  was  made  public,  it  required  no  long 
acquaintance  with  the  men  for  one  to  conclude  that  no 
saloon-keeper  would  be  indicted  at  the  October  term, 
and  that  certain  reputable  citizens  of  Callitso  County, 
under  bond  on  a  charge  of  a  conspiracy  to  interfere 
with  the  administration  of  the  law,  would  be  freed  from 
the  obligation  of  their  recognizances,  with  a  virtual 
apology  for  the  indignity  done  them  in  the  name  of 
law. 

In  the  meantime  the  other  great  party  of  Callitso 
County  marshaled  its  forces  and  nominated  candidates, 
and  Sawtheaire  was  made  acquainted  with  the  name  of 
his  opponent.  It  may  be  truthfully  said  that  Saw 
theaire  was  not  pleased  with  the  nomination.  He  had 
hoped  that  his  opponent  would  be  an  uncompromising 
anti-saloon  man,  who  was  accustomed  to  throwing  hot 
shell  into  the  camp  of  the  "frents  mit  lipperty"  at 
every  opportunity,  favorable  or  unfavorable.  Through 
certain  of  his  friends  he  had  caused  a  whisper  to  be 
breathed  into  the  ears  of  certain  prominent  politicians 
of  the  opposition  to  the  effect  that  by  the  nomination 
of  an  anti-saloon  candidate  succeed  they  might  in  catch 
ing  the  votes  of  temperance  people,  irrespective  of  party. 
But  the  opposition  was  not  to  be  wheedled  into  this 
suicidal  act  by  the  disinterested  kindness  of  Mr.  Saw- 
theaire's  friends.  They  were  not  going  to  be  caught 
with  salt  upon  their  tails,  they  said.  The  odds  was 
against  them  any  way,  and  they  were  not  at  all  eager 
to  increase  the  odds  by  making  fools  of  themselves  in 
this  way.  Suppose  they  should  nominate  a  strict 
temperance  man.  What  then  ?  How  many  temper 
ance  votes  would  he  poll  ?  Those  of  his  own  party, 
and  no  more.  No  temperance  man  would  be  so  un 
utterably  silly  as  to  give  up  party  for  principle.  Had 
they  not  thoroughly  tested  this  proposition  only  a  few 
years  before,  when  they  had  nominated  old  Emtibottle 
for  circuit  clerk?  They  thought,  when  they  nominated 
him,  that  he  would  surely  poll  the  votes  of  his  own 
party.  His  very  name  would  become  the  watchword 


474  A   SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

of  the  champions  of  temperance  from  both  parties. 
Every  temperance  man  would  desert  the  opposition 
and  vote  for  Emtibottle.  So  they  rolled  up  their  sleeves 
and  went  into  the  campaign.  They  paraded  the  streets 
with  transparencies  on  one  side  of  which  was  pictured 
an  empty  bottle,  while  the  other  was  garnished  with  a 
dying  snake.  But  their  enemies  asserted  that  the 
bottle  was  empty  because  their  candidate  had  persist 
ently  sucked  its  neck.  As  for  the  snake,  they  said  it 
was  merely  an  advertisement  of  a  certain  highly 
flavored  liquid  as  a  sure  cure  for  snake  bites.  Election 
day  came  and  passed.  Emtibottle  received  the  support 
of  the  temperance  men  of  his  own  party  and  three 
votes  from  the  opposition  ;  while  every  saloon-keeper 
and  personal-liberty  man  of  his  own  party  went  over 
boldly  to  the  enemy,  and  swore  he  would  never  vote  for 
a  crank.  And  so  it  was  that  Emtibottle  was  "snowed 
under  "  many  feet  deep,  and  the  political  bosses  of  his 
party  left  him  to  crawl  to  the  surface  and  shake  the 
downy  flakes  from  his  back,  while  they  departed  to 
their  homes  decidedly  rich  in  experience. 

No,  thank  you,  they  said,  when  choosing  a  candi 
date  to  oppose  Sawtheaire,  no  more  Emtibottles  for  us, 
please,  in  politics.  Temperance  advocates  are  very  re 
liable  between  elections,  but  at  the  polls  they  can  swal 
low  a  first-class  saloon  without  batting  their  eyes. 

There  was  no  excitement  in  their  convention.  They 
were  in  the  minority,  and  sought  to  nominate  their 
strongest  man.  All  others  stood  out  of  the  way.  It 
would  be  a  desperate  struggle,  to  say  the  least.  There 
was  scarcely  a  chance  of  success.  Men  were  not 
crowding  to  the  breach  to  spend  their  time  and  money 
for  the  glorious  privilege  of  being  sacrificed.  So, 
without  any  demonstration,  they  nominated  a  ticket. 
For  State's  attorney  they  nominated  Elias  Bumper, 
who  was  never  known  to  allow  a  bottle  to  remain 
corked  for  want  of  a  corkscrew. 

"That  is  a  noble  choice — a  noble  choice, "said  one 
of  the  wiseacres  to  another.  "Bumper's  own  party 


LIMPING   JUSTICE.  4/5 

will  stand  by  him,  and  unless  Sawtheaire  carries  him 
self  mighty  straight  on  pro-hi-bi-tion,  we  '11  catch  a  lot 
of  license  votes  from  his  party — that 's  what  we  '11  do. 
Talk  about  temperance,  will  you  ?  These  temperance 
fellows  are  not  in  earnest.  They  don't  mean  what  they 
say.  If  they  did, -they  would  vote  as  they  shoot — 
their  mouths.  If  they  would  do  that,  and  all  stand 
together,  they  could  put  up  a  third  man,  a  teetotaler, 
and  run  Sawtheaire  and  Bumper  both  out  of  the  field. 
As  long  as  they  love  their  party  more  than  they  fear 
the  snake,  the  saloon-keepers  will  hold  the  balance  of 
power,  and  run  the  conventions  and  control  the  elec 
tions. " 

About  the  time  when  the  political  excitement  was 
at  its  maximum,  the  day  for  the  opening  of  the  Octo 
ber  term  of  court  dawned  upon  the  county,  and  the  at 
tention  of  the  people  was  diverted,  to  a  certain  extent, 
from  politics  to  certain  other  matters  of  great  local  im 
portance.  The  docket  was  a  large  one,  and  the  court 
room  was  about  to  become  the  scene  of  many  hard 
fought  forensic  battles. 

Smith  and  Jones  were  in  litigation  over  a  calf  valued 
at  twenty  dollars.  At  first  it  had  been  with  each  a 
question  of  calf  or  no  calf,  but  now  it  was  a  question 
of  principle,  or,  more  properly  speaking,  of  costs. 
The  youthful  bovine  which  was  responsible  for  this 
great  controversy  had  been  entirely  lost  sight  of,  liter 
ally  as  well  as  figuratively ;  for  Smith,  who  had  obtained 
possession  of  the  animal  by  a  replevin  writ  at  the  be 
ginning  of  the  controversy,  had  slain  the  innocent 
creature,  sold  the  hide  and,  with  the  aid  of  his  wife 
and  eleven  children,  devoured  the  edible  parts  of  the 
residue.  .Smith  had  won  the  case  before  the  justice  of 
the  peace,  and  Jones  had  taken  an  appeal  to  the  circuit 
court.  The  case  had  been  tried  in  the  latter  court 
twice,  at  an  enormous  expense  to  somebody  because  of 
the  large  number  of  witnesses  subpoenaed  on  the  ques 
tion  of  the  identity  of  the  poor  animal.  At  the  first  of 
these  trials  the  jury  disagreed,  and  were  discharged 


476  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

without  a  verdict.  Upon  the  second  trial  a  verdict  and 
judgment  were  rendered  in  favor  of  Smith.  Jones 
perfected  an  appeal  to  the  supreme  court,  which  at  that 
time  was  laboring  with  an  overcrowded  docket.  So, 
after  the  lapse  of  two  or  three  years,  a  decision  was 
rendered  by  the  supreme  court,  and  an  opinion  filed, 
in  and  by  which  it  appeared  that  the  judgment  of  the 
court  below  was  reversed  and  the  cause  remanded  for  a 
new  trial,  for  the  reason  that  the  trial  court,  in  one  in 
struction  given  for  Smith,  had  used  the  word  "cow" 
instead  of  "calf,"  and  had  thereby  committed  the 
manifest  error  of  assuming,  first,  that  the  animal  was 
of  age,  and  next  that  it  was  of  the  feminine  gender, 
whereas  the  jury  should  have  been  left  untrammeled 
and  uninfluenced  by  any  suggestion  of  the  court  to 
find,  from  the  evidence,  whether  the  animal  was  of  age 
or  not,  and  more  especially,  whether  it  was  of  the 
masculine,  feminine  or  neuter  gender.  The  costs  in 
the  supreme  court  were  taxed  against  Smith,  and,  con 
sidering  the  magnitude  of  the  issues  involved,  amounted 
only  to  the  insignificant  sum  of  one  hundred  and  twen 
ty-five  dollars.  Smith  paid  the  costs,  and  swore  he 
would  come  out  on  top  of  Jones  yet ;  that  he  would 
warn  his  lawyers  to  write  "  calf"  instead  of  "  cow  "  in 
their  instructions  next  time  ;  and  if  they  should  wish 
to  refer  to  the  creature  by  a  pronoun,  to  write  "he, 
she,  it  or  they,"  so  as  not  to  assume  anything  either  as 
to  the  gender  or  the  number  of  the  beast.  The  costs 
in  the  circuit  court  and  justice's  court  which  would 
follow  the  final  result  of  the  litigation  now  amounted  to 
about  three  hundred  dollars.  But  the  officers  and  wit 
nesses  were  not  alarmed,  for  Smith  and  Jones  each  had 
a  good  farm,  and  costs  would  be  collectible,  no  matter 
which  one  of  them  had  the  bill  to  pay.  This  impor 
tant  case  was  on  the  docket  for  trial  at  the  present 
term  of  court. 

Another  important  suit  demanding  the  considera 
tion  of  judge  and  jury  was  a  controversy  between  Mrs. 
Squall  and  Mrs.  Wrangle  over  eleven  chickens  which 


LIMPING    JUSTICE.  4/7 

had  been  hatched  during  the  preceding  spring.  It 
seems  that  Mrs.  Squall's  hen  had  sat  on  Mrs. 
Wrangle's  hen's  eggs  on  Mrs.  Squall's  premises,  and 
that,  after  the  customary  period  of  incubation,  the 
proud  mother  (if  she  was  the  mother)  had  led  forth  a 
brood  of  eleven  soft,  downy,  fluffy  chicks.  Now  it 
would  be  uncharitable  to  accuse  this  happy  hen  of 
having  deliberately  done  this  deed  for  the  purpose  of 
severing  the  ties  of  friendship  existing  between  the 
two  neighbors,  Squall  and  Wrangle.  But  how  often 
even  a  hen  innocently  does  that  which  raises  knotty 
legal  questions  for  the  annoyance  of  learned  lawyers 
and  jurists,  and  brings  about  the  total  estrangement  of 
neighbors.  Now  if  this  hen  had  laid  the  eggs  herself, 
this  law-suit  would  never  have  been  brought.  Or,  if 
Mrs.  Wrangle's  hen  had  laid  no  eggs,  the  docket  might 
never  have  been  garnished  with  the  melodious  names 
of  Squall  and  Wrangle.  But  so  it  was  that  Mrs. 
Wrangle,  claiming  the  chicks  because  the  eggs  were 
hers,  wickedly  exposed  some  corn  meal  mixed  with 
water  before  the  very  eyes  of  the  hungry  eleven  near 
the  southwest  corner  of  her  house,  and  then  seized  the 
innocent  creatures  while  they  were  industriously  peck 
ing  away  at  the  food.  Mrs.  Squall,  claiming  the  brood 
because  her  hen  had  spent  three  weeks  of  valuable 
time  in  warming  them  into  existence,  proceeded  without 
delay  to  replevy  them.  And  so  the  question  of  owner 
ship  was  to  be  tried  at  the  present  term  of  court.  The 
trial  promised  to  be  of  unusual  interest,  for  the  reason 
that  it  would  settle  an  important  question,  and  for  the 
additional  reason  that  each  of  the  litigants  had  an 
nounced  a  deliberate  intention  to  detail  some  matters 
about  her  antagonist  which  would  make  the  neighbors 
"  open  their  eyes." 

There  was  also  a  prospect  of  a  busy  session  for  the 
grand  jury.  Hank  Filcher  had  stolen  two  armfuls  of 
wood,  to  keep  himself  and  his  family  from  freezing,  one 
night  during  the  preceding  winter ;  and  inasmuch  as 
he  was  not  of  much  consequence  any  way,  and  had 


4/8  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

concealed  his  crime  for  several  months,  he  was  com 
mitted  in  July,  by  Squire  Twinkle,  in  consequence  of 
his  inability  to  give  a  recognizance  in  the  sum  of  five 
hundred  dollars.  The  investigation  of  this  serious 
crime  would  probably  consume  two  days  of  the  pre 
cious  time  of  the  grand  jury.  Several  fights  would 
also  have  to  be  investigated,  and  other  heinous  offenses 
of  like  gravity  would  have  to  be  considered.  It  .is  true 
that  Major  Srnoothasoil  had  embezzled  several  thou 
sands  of  dollars  from  the  bank  of  which  he  was  the 
cashier ;  but  the  Major's  friends  had  assisted  him  in 
making  restitution  to  the  bank,  and  out  of  consideration 
for  his  family,  it  was  thought  advisable  not  to  press  the 
matter  too  vigorously.  He  had  such  an  "elegant" 
wife,  and  his  daughter  was  so  popular  in  society, 
that  it  would  be  the  perfection  of  cruelty  to  tear  the 
Major  away  from  their  embraces  and  consign  him  to 
the  fellowship  of  thieves  and  other  incorrigibles. 
Besides,  he  had  served  in  the  war  with  Mexico,  and  had 
distinguished  himself  for  his  gallantry  on  several  battle 
fields,  and  under  such  circumstances  ought  to  have 
carte-blanche  to  engage  in  all  kinds  of  respectable  steal 
ing.  It  was  thought  that  there  was  nothing  in  the  case, 
and  that  the  grand  jury  would  ignore  the  charge  at 
their  first  sitting.  If.  he  had  worn  rags,  and  had  stolen 
a  loaf  of  bread  to  keep  his  sick  wife  from  starving, 
it  would  have  been  an  altogether  different  case,  you 
know. 

On  Monday  morning  there  was  unwonted  activity 
in  and  about  the  streets  of  Wellington.  Jurors,  liti 
gants  and  witnesses  came  to  the  county-seat  by  the 
various  methods  of  traveling  which  were  popular  in 
Callitso  County  —  some  by  rail,  some  on  horseback, 
and  others  in  wagons  and  buggies.  Every  place  around 
the  public  square  where  a  horse  could  be  tied  soon 
became  tributary  to  a  rope  or  leathern  strap.  It  was  a 
bright  day — one  of  those  balmy  Autumn  days  when  it 
seems  almost  a  sin  to  be  in  the  house.  The  people 
crystallized  into  groups,  according  to  affinity  and  busi- 


LIMPING    JUSTICE.  4/9 

ness  relations,  some  in  the  public  square,  others  in 
front  of  the  stores  and  saloons,  and  others,  if  the  truth 
must  be  told,  inside  of  the  saloons.  Let  us  move 
about  among  these  animated  groups  for  a  while.  Per 
haps  we  may  meet  some  of  our  old  acquaintances. 

Yes,  here  is  Harvey  Holly,  busily  engaged  in  con 
versation  with  certain  of  the  grand  jurors.  Can  it  be 
that  he  has  closed  his  saloon  out  of  respect  for  the 
court  ?  Ah,  no !  he  has  employed  two  additional  bar 
tenders  ;  for  he  himself  can  not  engage  this  week  in 
the  innocent  diversion  of  mixing  drinks,  inasmuch  as  he 
is  the  grand  juror  from  Wellington,  and  must  devote 
his  talents  to  the  service  of  the  people. 

But  let  us  move  on.  Yonder  is  Donnerblitzen, 
yonder  is  Thompson,  .and  yonder  is  Walker.  What 
are  they  doing  here  ?  They  are  not  grand  jurors,  as 
an  inspection  of  the  jury  list  will  show.  Walker  is 
indeed  a  petit  juror,  and  he  is  also  a  druggist  from  the 
town  of  Jackson.  But  neither  of  his  comrades  is  juror, 
witness,  or  litigant.  Why  are  they  here,  then?  Why 
is  druggist  Thompson,  from  an  anti-license  community, 
here?  He  has  no  business  in  Wellington,  as  far  as 
we  are  able  to  discover.  Strange  that  the  merchants, 
carpenters,  blacksmiths,  and  farmers  of  the  county 
do  not  manifest  the  same  interest  in  the  proper  admini 
stration  of  the  law  as  these  self-sacrificing  saloon 
keepers  and  druggists,  who  come  up  to  the  city  of 
Wellington  while  the  grand  jury  is  in  session,  to  sup 
port,  by  the  magnetism  and  encouragement  of  their 
presence,  those  officers  whose  duty  it  is  to  enforce  the 
law !  But  there  is  not  a  farmer  here,  except  as  he  is 
compelled  to  come  as  a  juror,  witness,  or  litigant.  So 
it  is  with  the  medical  profession.  So  it  is  with  mechan 
ics  and  merchants.  As  far  as  we  can  see,  these  saloon 
keepers  and  druggists  are  the  only  public-spirited  men 
of  the  whole  county. 

But  ah  !  perhaps  we  are  mistaken  after  all.  Yonder 
go  Donnerblitzen  and  Thompson  up  the  old  rickety 
stairway,  over  which  swings  the  sign  of  Squabble, 


480  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

Wriggle  &  Dabble,  Attorneys  at  Law  and  Solicitors  in 
Chancery.  After  all,  they  may  have  suits  pending  for 
trial  at  this  term,  and  we  may  have  overlooked  their 
names  on  the  docket.  Let  us  look  again.  No,  we  are 
not  mistaken.  Their  names  are  not  on  the  docket. 
The  clerk  tells  us  that  they  are  neither  jurors  nor  wit 
nesses.  Why,  then,  do  they  want  to  see  Messrs. 
Squabble,  Wriggle  &  Dabble?  Let  us  take  the  privi 
lege  of  eavesdropping  for  a  moment.  Now  the  mystery 
is  explained.  They  are  here  to  watch  the  grand  jury — 
to  prevent  indictments  against  themselves  for  violations 
of  the  dram-shop  act ;  to  pervert  the  administration  of 
justice;  to  buy  where  purchases  can  be  made;  to 
frighten  those  who  can  be  frightened,  and  to  coddle 
those  who  can  be  coddled  ;  in  a  word,  to  bind  the 
blind  goddess  hand  and  foot,  lest  she  judge  and  punish 
them  for  their  violations  of  the  law. 

And  do  you  think  our  kind  friend  Sawtheaire  is  sit 
ting  in  his  office  this  beautiful  morning,  lazily  puffing 
his  cigar,  with  his  feet  on  the  table  before  him,  and 
his  mind  in  the  clouds?  Nay,  verily.  Sawtheaire  is 
alive  to-day  in  every  joint  and  muscle.  He  has  work 
on  hand — work  which  can  not  be  safely  entrusted  to 
any  other  living  man,  and  in  which  he  is  most  intensely 
interested.  That  work  is  with  the  grand  jury.  The 
reader  will  remember  that  an  old-fashioned  gentleman 
named  Cloverfield,  at  the  close  of  the  preliminary  ex 
amination  held  on  his  premises  a  few  weeks  ago,  re 
quired  certain  of  the  most  distinguished  citizens  of 
Wellington  to  enter  into  recognizance  in  the  sum  of  one 
thousand  dollars  each,  to  appear  at  this  term  of  the 
circuit  court  to  answer  to  a  certain  charge  of  con 
spiracy.  Now,  while  Sawtheaire  was  not  one  of  these 
defendants,  yet  he  felt  very  kindly  towards  them  at  the 
time,  and  that  feeling  has  not  undergone  any  modifica 
tion  whatever.  He  sympathizes  with  them  from  the 
depths  of  his  soul.  He  yearns  towards  them  with  fra 
ternal  affection.  An  indictment  of  these  noble-spirited 
citizens  may  be  productive  of  unpleasantness  for  him- 


LIMPING    JUSTICE.  48  I 

self.  While  they  are  being  toasted,  he  himself  may  be 
singed.  And  he  is  not  yet  ready  -to  be  singed.  The 
only  practicable  way  out  of  the  difficulty  is  to  throttle 
the  investigation  in  the  grand  jury  room,  and  thereby 
prevent  an  indictment. 

Animated  by  these  kindly  feelings  for  his  afflicted 
friends,  Sawtheaire  hastened  to  interview  certain  of  the 
grand  jurors  who  belonged  to  his  own  party,  but  were 
nevertheless  temperance  men,  and  to  convince  them 
that  this  unjust  and  infamous  prosecution  was  a  move 
of  the  opposition  in  the  interest  of  their  party  at  the 
polls  in  November. 

"They  hope  to  indict  the  saloon-keepers  for  this 
conspiracy,"  he  said,  "and  to  implicate  me  (by  insin 
uation  merely)  in  the  charge,  and  to  wield  the  indict 
ment  as  a  club  over  my  head  at  the  polls.  It 's  a 
political  measure.  They  do  not  expect  a  trial  under 
the  indictment.  It 's  merely  intended  for  a  scarecrow 
to  help  Bumper." 

The  grand  jurors  seemed  to  appreciate  the  situation, 
and  averred  that  such  a  transparent  political  measure 
would  receive  no  support  in  the  grand  jury  room  from 
them. 

Then  Sawtheaire  saw  certain  of  the  friends  of  tip 
pling,  belonging  to  the  other  party,  and  proceeded  to 
convince  them  that  this  prosecution  was  in  the  interest 
of  those  cranks,  fanatics  and  liberty-hating  despots  who 
were  making  war  upon  the  saloons ;  that  there  was  no 
foundation  for  the  charge  ;  that  the  complaint  on  which 
it  was  based  was  a  vile  libel,  and  that  the  author  of  the 
charge  had  proved  himself  to  be  a  murderer,  and  had 
been  compelled  to  flee  from  the  State  to  escape  merited 
punishment  for  one  of  the  most  fiendish  murders  ever 
committed  in  the  State  of  Illinois. 

Sawtheaire's  arguments  were  skillfully  made,  and 
he  felt  satisfied  he  had  captured  most  of  the  grand 
jurors.  Manning  was  a  fugitive,  and  there  was  no  one 
in  Wellington  now  to  urge  the  prosecution.  All  of  his 
plots  had  been  successfully  executed,  except  that  re- 


482  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY.. 

lating  to  the  assassination  of  Manning.  Even  there  he 
had  not  made  an  utter  failure.  He  regretted  the  kill 
ing  of  Henry  Anderson ;  but  the  main  object  of  the 
conspiracy  had  been  accomplished — Manning  had  been 
driven  away,  and  would  not  dare  to  return  to  Welling 
ton,  and  this  was  death  for  all  practical  purposes.  In 
fact,  as  long  as  Manning  remained  away,  there  was  no 
necessity  for  hunting  him  down,  and  bringing  him  back 
for  trial.  Let  him  be  indicted,  and  then  let  the  indict 
ment  stand  as  a  perpetual  admonition  to  the  banished 
lawyer  to  reside  elsewhere.  This  course  was  a  safe  one, 
while  any  other  might  result  in  unpleasant  disclosures. 

About  this  time  the  eleven  o'clock  train  whistled, 
and  the  groups  in  the  court-house  yard  and  in  front  of 
the  stores  began  to  gravitate  towards  the  hall  of  justice. 
Even  the  saloons  belched  forth  a  part  of  their  popula 
tion.  The  omnibus  rolled  up  in  front  of  the  hotel,  and 
Judge  Snapper  descended  to  the  ground,  handed  his 
valise  to  the  baggage-man,  and  went  into  the  hotel  to 
register.  He  shook  hands  with  his  friends  who  flocked 
around  him.  One  youth,  about  twenty  years  old,  from 
the  bottoms,  who  had  never  seen  a  circuit  judge,  and 
wondered  what  kind  of  a  looking  animal  he  was,  pressed 
forward  on  tiptoe,  and  stood  with  wide-open  mouth 
and  staring  eyes,  looking  over  the  heads  of  the  ring  of 
admirers  surrounding  the  Judge,  and  feasting  his  eyes 
on  the  object  of  his  curiosity. 

"Well,  I'll  be  blamed!"  said  the  youth,  as  he 
turned  away.  "  Ol'  Squire  Shallershell  out  on  Rusty 
Creek  beats  him  all  holler  fur  looks !  He  do,  be 
gracious!  " 

Judge  Snapper  elbowed  his  way  through  the  crowd 
and  steered  straight  for  the  court-house,  the  reader  is 
about  to  say  ;  but  the  author  begs  the  reader's  pardon, 
and  claims  the  privilege  of  stating  cold,  naked  facts 
instead  of  indulging  in  freaks  of  the  imagination. 
Judge  Snapper  steered  straight  for  Harvey  Holly's 
saloon.  He  was  very  "dry."  He  had  risen  early, 
and  had  been  several  hours  on  the  road.  He  had  had 


LIMPING    JUSTICE.  483 

but  two  drinks,  and  was  too  nervous  and  "dry"  to 
ascend  the  bench  without  paying  a  visit  to  a  saloon 
where  his  oesophagus  might  be  duly  moistened.  He 
called  for  whisky.  So  modest  was  he,  that  when  he 
poured  out  the  liquid  he  encircled  the  glass  with  his 
hand.  Evidently  he  did  not  want  the  crowd  to  know 
how  small  a  drink  he  was  going  to  take.  Yet  they  ob 
served,  after  he  had  poured  out  his  small  dose,  and  set 
the  bottle  down,  that  there  was  much  more  unoccupied 
space  in  the  bottle  than  when  he  had  taken  it  up.  One 
of  the  bystanders  was  so  discourteous  to  the  bench  as 
to  wink  at  his  companion  as  Snapper  turned  up  the 
glass  and  let  the  fluid  gurgle  down  his  throat. 

The  Judge's  thirst  having  been  quenched,  he  has 
tened  to  the  court-house,  hastily  greeted  the  attorneys, 
seated  himself  in  the  judge's  chair,  and  ordered  the 
Sheriff  to  open  court.  The  proclamation  was  made. 
The  people  were  commanded  to  keep  silence,  which 
they  proceeded  to  do  without  a  second  invitation  ;  for 
it  was  manifest  from  the  flush  on  the  Judge's  face,  and 
the  restless  snapping  of  his  eyes,  that  his  tonic  was 
taking  effect,  and  that  any  refractory  individual  might 
be  made  to  feel  the  weight  of  the  judicial  wand. 

The  grand  jurors  were  called.  All  answered  but 
one,  and  it  is  safe  to  assume  that  this  man  was  a  pro 
hibitionist.  He  was  in  favor  of  the  rigid  enforcement 
of  the  present  law  ;  therefor^,  he  procured  a  physician's 
certificate  that  he  had  a  pain  in  the  great  toe  of  his 
left  foot,  which  might  be  intensified  by  the  inactivity  of 
jury  service,  and  having  forwarded  this  by  one  of  his 
neighbors,  spent  the  day  in  tramping  out  white  beans. 

"Summon  a  man  from  the  body  of  the  county,  hav 
ing  the  qualifications  of  a  grand  juror,"  cried  the  Judge. 

Now  Sheriff  Hazelbrush  had  not  the  faintest  idea 
whom  he  would  summon  when  he  heard  the  order  of 
the  court !  Of  course  not !  He  had  not  told  Joe  Jim- 
son  to  make  himself  a  conspicuous  object  about  that 
hour  of  the  day  !  Certainly  not !  But  Joe  needed  no 
advice  on  this  subject,  whether  it  had  been  given  him 


484  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

or  not.  He  was  at  this  moment  standing  against  the 
wall,  in  full  view  of  the  Sheriff  Five  or  six  other  dis 
interested  patriots  were  striving  to  shield  themselves 
from  observation  by  standing  against  the  wall,  strok 
ing  their  beards,  and  looking  the  Sheriff  full  in  the  face, 
as  much  as  to  say:  "I  do  hope  you  won't  see  me." 
The  Sheriff  seemed  to  be  far-sighted.  He  was  un 
able  to  see  Colonel  Mansfield,  or  Marion  Spence,  or 
Squire  Hatteras,  who  sat  immediately  in  front  of  him, 
while  his  eyes  became  riveted  on  the  manly  and  im 
posing  form  of  Joe  Jimson.  "Joe  Jimson,"  cried  the 
Sheriff,  "Joe  Jimson,  come  here  into  the  jury-box." 
And  the  Sheriff  dropped  into  his -chair,  seized  a  pen, 
and  began  mechanically  to  draw  the  picture  of  an  ass, 
.while  the  other  wall  ornaments  found  seats,  no  longer 
.posing  before  the  Sheriff,  but  with  crestfallen  counte 
nances  manifesting  their  disappointment.  Each  of 
them  was  thinking:  "It'll  be  a  cold  day  if  I  ever  vote 
for  you  again." 

Joe  Jimson  strode  forward  and  took  his  place  among 
the  grand  jurors.  Not  with  military  precision  strode 
he,  for  Joe  was  not  a  military  man,  and  was  even  now 
slightly  nervous  for  reasons  which  grand  juror  Holly 
could  satisfactorily  explain.  A  foreman  was  appointed 
and  sworn,  after  which  the  other  grand  jurors  were 
sworn.  Then  the  Judge  laid  down  his  pen,  shoved 
his  glasses  up  into  his  hair,  and  delivered  the  custom 
ary  charge.  In  two  or  three  years  there  would  be  an 
other  election  of  judges,  and  as  the  time  drew  nearer 
the  Judge  became  more  cautious  in  his  remarks.  He 
charged  the  jurors  pointedly  that  they  must  inquire  in 
to  all  cases  of  felony,  but  should  not  put  the  people 
to  the  expense  of  an  investigation  of  misdemeanors. 
The  latter  can  be  prosecuted  before  justices  of  the 
peace,  he  said.  He  averred  that  it  was  an  outrage  to 
entail  upon  the  people  unnecessary  expense  in  the 
management  of  the  courts.  The  grand  jury  should 
not  indict  for  trivial  offenses,  or  for  the  purpose  of 
enabling  persons  to  vent  their  spleen  on  one  another. 


LIMPING  JUSTICE.  485 

Some  further  advice  was  given  to  the  jurors,  and  then 
they  filed  out  of  the  room  with  an  officer  as  their 
chaperon. 

It  was  manifest  that  the  Judge  was  pluming  his 
feathers  for  another  term. 

Harvey  Holly,  Joe  Jimson,  and  the  grand  jurors 
generally,  understood  the  meaning  of  this  charge 
perfectly  well.  So  did  the  people.  So  did  the  saloon 
keepers  and  druggists.  So  did  the  Judge  himself.  The 
dram-shop  act  was  to  be  a  dead  letter  during  this  term 
of  court  at  least.  Snapper  had  a  sincere  regard  for  the 
glorious  privilege  of  wetting  his  throat  when  it  was 
dry,  and  a  consequent  indisposition  to  the  enforcement 
of  a  law  which  was  likely  to  interfere  with  this  pro 
pensity,  though  in  ever  so  slight  a  degree. 

The  Invincible  Lance,  whose  editor  was  a  regular 
patron  of  the  saloon,  published  this  commentary  on  the 
Judge's  instructions  : 

"It  is  refreshing  in  these  days  of  fanaticism  to  find 
our  judges  to  be  men  of  broad,  enlightened  and  liberal 
views.  Judge  Snapper's  charge  to  the  grand  jury  last 
Monday  was  a  model  of  perspicuity  and  incisiveness. 
In  Ciceronian  language  he  charged  the  grand  jury  to 
disregard  all  complaints  of  minor  and  petty  offenses, 
and  to  confine  themselves  principally  to  cases  of  felony. 
Judge  Snapper  makes  no  invidious  discrimination  be 
tween  different  kinds  of  business,  and  is  evidently  op 
posed  to  allowing  his  court  to  be  used  by  cranks  to 
break  up  any  class  of  honorable  business  men  engaged 
in  a  lawful  business." 

When  Judge  Snapper  read  this  editorial,  he  nudged 
the  gentleman  who  sat  by  him  at  the  table,  and  re 
marked  that  the  Invincible  Lance  was  undoubtedly  one 
of  the  ablest  local  papers  in  the  whole  Mississippi 
valley. 

Do  you  suppose  the  grand  jury  indicted  any  saloon 
keeper  or  druggist?  If  you  do,  you  are  sadly  mistaken. 
Do  you  suppose  that  Holly  et  al.  were  indicted  for  their 
unlawful  conspiracy?  You  know  they  were  not.  But  a 


486  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

true  bill  was  returned  against  the  unfortunate  scamp  who 
stole  the  two  armfuls  of  wood.  William  Manning  was 
indicted  for  the  murder  of  Henry  Anderson,  and  Holly 
and  Jimson  were  among  those  who  voted  a  true  bill.  A 
few  other  bills  \vere  returned,  and  the  grand  jury  dis 
charged,  with  the  very  earnest  and  cordial,  almost  tear 
ful,  thanks  of  Judge  Snapper  for  the  able,  impartial, 
fearless  and  conscientious  manner  in  which  they  had 
discharged  their  duties,  etc.,  etc.  The  grand  jurors 
retired,  sucking  their  taffy  as  they  went,  and  the 
curtains  fell  on  scene  one  of  the  farce ;  for  farce  it  is 
when  the  violators  of  the  law  are  sworn  as  grand  jurors 
and  gravely  charged  to  leave  none  unpresented  through 
favor. 

Major  Smoothasoil  and  the  saloon-keepers,  Holly, 
Jimson  and  the  druggists,  all  escaped.  The  little  fish, 
Hank  Filcher,  was  caught ;  and  inasmuch  as  indict 
ments,  owing  to  the  highly  civilized  state  of  the  people, 
were  hard  to  find,  and  the  majesty  of  the  law  had  to 
be  upheld  in  some  way,  poor  Filcher,  for  the  highly 
penal,  malicious  and  revolutionary  assault  made  by  h'.m 
on  society  in  stealing  the  aforesaid  two  armfuls  of 
wood,  was  lectured  by  the  Judge  for  the  full  period  of 
half  an  hour  on  the  enormity  of  his  crime  and  the 
necessity  of  the  rigid  enforcement  of  the  criminal  code, 
and  then  fined  fifty  dollars  and  committed  to  the  county 
jail  for  six  months  ;  at  the  end  of  which  time,  the  Judge 
said,  it  was  to  be  hoped  this  trembling  culprit  would 
come  forth  determined  to  regain  that  place  in  the  es 
teem  of  his  fellow-men  which  he  had  forfeited  by  his 
persistent  course  of  crime  during  the  past. 

The  Judge's  speech  was  fine.  It  was  very  impress 
ive.  And  no  wonder,  when  all  the  circumstances  are 
considered.  There  stood  the  ragged  defendant.  There 
sat  the  Judge,  stern  and  severe,  representing  the 
offended  majesty  of  the  law.  Before  him  was  a  great 
throng  of  eager  listeners.  Inspired  for  the  occasion, 
he  spoke  the  speech  "trippingly  on  the  tongue,"  and 
figuratively  flayed  the  defendant  alive. 


LIMPING  JUSTICE.  487 

Well,  the  calf  and  chicken  cases  were  tried,  and 
court  finally  adjourned.  No  special  effort  was  made  to 
find  William  Manning,  and  the  murder  ceased  to  be 
talked  of  or  thought  of  by  the  people.  Sawtheaire 
was  elected  State's  attorney,  and  redeemed  all  his 
pledges  to  the  saloon-keepers.  The  sun  continued  to 
rise  and  set,  and  the  mists  to  ascend  and  the  rains  to 
fall,  as  it  had  been  from  the  beginning,  and  the  people 
began  to  think  that  they  would  never  see  Manning 
again,  and  that  the  days  of  tragedy  in  Wellington  were 
numbered  forever  with  the  past 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

THE    FIRST    WEDDING. 

There  were  some  in  Wellington  who  could  not  so 
easily  forget  the  record  of  the  past.  A  frightful  tragedy 
had  occurred,  and  the  result  had  been  an  unusual  com 
motion  throughout  the  city,  and  even  throughout  the 
entire  county;  but  this  commotion  arose  from  curi 
osity — from  the  desire  to  hear  and  tell  some  new  thing ; 
from  the  natural  tendency  of  the  mind  to  delight  in  the 
solution  of  riddles;  from  a  wish  to  see  an  offender 
brought  to  suffer  merited  punishment  for  his  crime. 
The  home  life  of  the  families  of  Wellington,  except  the 
family  of  Henry  Anderson,  remained  wholly  unaffected 
by  the  murder.  There  was  no  vacant  chair  at  Squire 
Ingleside's  hearth ;  there  was  no  unused  plate  at 
Colonel  Mansfield's  table.  Hence  these  gentlemen 
and  their  families,  with  their  family  circles  unbroken, 
could  sit  down  in  their  homes  and  talk  over  the  crime 
deliberately,  and  wonder  what  had  become  of  Manning, 
and  when,  if  ever,  he  would  be  caught  and  hanged ; 
and  then,  if  they  grew  weary  of  this  theme,  could  drop 
it  without  a  tear  or  a  sigh,  and  enter  upon  the  discus 
sion  of  something  else. 

It  was  not  so  at  the  home  of  Mary  Anderson. 
Her  loss  was  ever  present  with  her.  If,  for  a  moment, 
her  mind  was  diverted  from  her  grief,  it  was  but  to 
return  to  her  great  sorrow  with  a  strange  feeling  of  self- 
accusation  for  her  infidelity  to  the  memory  of  her 
departed  husband.  It  is  true  that  the  recollection  of 
the  last  few  months  of  her  married  life  was  not  pleas 
ant.  Therefore,  when  she  sat  down  to  work  and  to 
think  of  the  past,  the  late  sad  and  bitter  experience 
did  not  absorb  her  attention.  She  went  back  to  the 
beginning — back  to  childhood — back  to  the  hour  of 

her  betrothal,  of  her  marriage — back -to  the  years  so 

488 


THE   FIRST   WEDDING.  489 

happily  passed  in  her  prairie  home.  During  all  those 
years  she  found  no  painful  subject  to  dwell  upon,  for 
her  husband  was  then  as  tender  and  loving  as  the  most 
exacting  of  women  could  desire.  If  he  had  been 
unkind  afterward,  if  he  had  struck  her  roughly  and 
spoken  to  her  harshly,  it  was  not  because  he  had 
ceased  to  love  her,  but  because  he  was  under  the  con 
trol  of  that  which  has  power  to  convert  an  angel  into  a 
demon. 

She  did  not  parade  her  grief  before  the  world.  She 
dressed  in  black ;  but  she  had  been  accustomed  to  wear 
black  before  her  husband's  death.  According  to  the 
judgment  of  the  world,  the  absence  of  ostentation  in 
her  grief  might  have  been  regarded  as  evidence  of  a 
cold,  perhaps  selfish,  disposition.  But  the  world 
knew  nothing  of  the  tears  which  fell  upon  her  pillow 
at  night,  or  of  the  daily  prayers  which  rose  to  God 
from  her  anguished  soul,  or  of  the  lonely  hours  when 
James  and  Katie  were  gone  and  she  was  left  alone  with 
her  work  and  her  sad  reflections.  Even  her  children 
could  not  be  her  partners  in  her  moments  of  deepest 
grief.  They  were  young,  and  their  hearts  were  elastic 
and  sure  to  resist  the  pressure  of  grief  after  they  had 
yielded  to  it  for  a  short  time.  They  would  yet  be  able 
to  find  new  objects  of  affection,  and  to  form  anew  their 
attachments  for  life.  They  could  not  suffer  as  she  did, 
or  enter  fully  into  sympathy  with  a  sorrow  they  did  not 
feel  and  could  not  understand. 

She  found  a  measure  of  relief  from  the  intensity  of 
her  sorrow  in  her  care  for  her  children  and  her  earnest 
endeavor  to  fill  the  places  of  both  parents  to  them. 
She  lived  for  them,  and  strove  only  to  make  them 
happy.  In  the  progress  of  time  the  thought  of  her 
loss  ceased  to  be  accompanied  with  intense  and  bitter 
grief,  but  engendered  the  rather  sweet,  precious  and 
hallowed  recollections,  a  subdued  melancholy,  which 
chastened  her  life,  and  increased  her  tenderness 
and  devotion  to  the  remaining  members  of  her 
family. 


490  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

Mr.  Anderson  had  not  left  his  wife  and  children  to 
engage  in  a  bitter  struggle  for  the  necessaries  of  life. 
He  had  left  them  a  competency,  well  invested,  and 
they  had  no  fear  of  want  to  contend  with.  He  had 
wasted  a  portion  of  his  means  in  riotous  living,  and 
had  he  not  been  murdered,  might  have  squandered,  in 
a  few  years,  all  that  he  had.  As  it  was,  the  bulk  of 
his  fortune  remained  intact.  The  care  and  preserva 
tion  of  the  property  naturally  devolved  upon  James, 
who  discharged  his  trust  with  scrupulous  fidelity. 

A  few  weeks  after  the  death  of  his  father,  James 
began  to  be  considerably  exercised  over  the  choice  of 
his  business  or  profession  in  life.  He  was  urged  by 
his  mother  and  sister  to  complete  his  college  course, 
and  then  take  a  course  in  some  eastern  college  of  a 
higher  grade  than  the  Wellington  school.  "After 
that,"  said  Katie,  "you  will  have  time  to  choose  your 
business  and  prepare  for  it,  and  you  will  then  build 
on  a  good  foundation."  But  James  was  like  American 
youth  in  general — he  was  impatient;  he  could  not  con 
sent  to  "labor  and  to  wait;"  he  was  anxious  to 
plunge  at  once  into  active  business.  "What  is  the 
use  of  spending  three  or  four  years  studying  Latin  and 
Greek?  I'll  go  out  of  college,  and  forget  in  a  few 
years  all  I  ever  learned  there.  If  mental  discipline  is 
what  a  man  gets  at  college,  I  can  get  that  preparing 
for  my  profession.  No,  Katie,  I  '11  not  go  to  college 
another  day.  I  want  to  get  to  work." 

He  had  more  difficulty  in  deciding  upon  a  profes 
sion  or  business.  Of  course  he  thought  of  the  law  first. 
Then  he  scrutinized  the  lives  of  the  lawyers  of  his  ac 
quaintance.  There  was  Sawtheaire,  promising  enough 
— many  called  him  brilliant ;  but  he  was  a  time-server, 
a  friend  of  saloons,  a  man  of  outward  piety  and  of 
inward  devilishness.  There  were  Squabble,  Wriggle  & 
Dabble,  eminent  in  their  profession,  but  not  over 
scrupulous  in  their  practice,  and  upon  the  doubtful 
side  of  many  great  moral  questions.  There  was  Man 
ning,  in  whom  he  had  reposed  implicit  confidence, 


THE    FIRST    WEDDING.  49! 

whom  he  had  learned  to  love  as  a  brother,  now  a  fugi 
tive  and  a  vagabond,  with  the  brand  of  Cain  upon  his 
brow.  So  the  young  man's  experience  with  attorneys 
had  not  resulted  in  any  special  confidence  in  the  profes 
sion.  He  did  not  stop  to  consider  that  he  ought  not 
to  argue  from  a  particular  to  a  general,  and  condemn, 
by  wholesale  because  of  the  transgressions  of  a  few ; 
that  the  lawyers  in  question  might  be  scoundrels  all, 
and  other  lawyers'  might  be  worthy  and  upright  gentle 
men.  He  judged  the  whole  profession  by  those  he 
had  known  best,  and  announced  that  he  would  never 
suffer  himself  to  become  identified  with  such  a  band  of 
pirates.  He  therefore  took  his  leave  of  Blackstone, 
and  began  to  look  around  him  for  some  other  profes 
sion,  or  if  not  a  profession,  then  some  agreeable  busi 
ness  in  which  he  might  heartily  engage. 

He  searched  his  heart,  and  found  there  no  constrain 
ing  desire  to  engage  in  the  pleasant  pastime  of  farm 
ing.  The  reading  of  certain  works  of  fiction,  and  the 
examination  of  the  attractive  pictures  of  blooming 
apple-orchards  and  sunny  hay-fields  with  which  the 
volumes  were  embellished,  would  have  driven  him  to 
the  farm  and  the  plow,  had  he  not  theretofore  had  some 
practical  knowledge  of  a  farmer's  life,  and  learned  that 
there  is  more  real  happiness  in  one  day  spent  in  read 
ing  such  books  and  looking  at  such  pictures  than  in  a 
week's  actual  service  in  the  harvest  field.  So  James  de 
cided  against  farming.  He  took  Katie  and  his  mother 
into  his  confidence;  and  Katie  finally  suggested  that 
her  beloved  brother  had  given  indications  of  a  genius 
for  medicine  and  surgery.  When  a  child,  he  had  made 
a  medicine-case,  filled  the  bottles  manufactured  out  of 
hollow  weeds  with  brickdust  of  varying  hues,  with 
ashes,  salt,  sugar,  and  such  other  substances  as  were 
accessible,  and  equipped  with  this  disease-frightening 
blunderbuss,  had  mounted  a  broom-stick  for  a  horse  and 
dashed  wildly  about  the  premises  to  measure  out  doses 
for  the  sick.  Was  not  this  a  prophecy  of  what  was  to 
be  his  calling  in  life?  Then  Katie  said  she  remembered 


492  A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

vividly  the  occasion  when  she  had  caught  a  small  cin 
der  in  her  eye,  and  her  brother  had  very  dexterously 
extracted  the  cinder  with  a  silk  handkerchief  in  less 
than  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  He  had  also  shown  remark 
able  skill  in  carving  a  chicken  on  several  occasions, 
which  might  be  taken  as  indicative  of  undeveloped 
surgical  powers.  So,  after  considerable  discussion, 
James  went  to  see  Dr.  Harmon.  The  result  of  all 
which  was  that  the  young  man  became  a  disciple  of 
^Esculapius  under  the1  old  doctor,  and  from  that  day 
on  prosecuted  his  medical  studies  with  vigor. 

And  now  possibly  the  reader  is  shocked  at  the  heart- 
lessness  and  thoughtlessness  of  Katie's  speech  thus 
early  after  the  loss  of  her  father  and  lover.  It  must  be 
admitted  that  she  should  not  have  been  at  all  mirthful 
after  the  bitter  experiences  of  the  past.  She  should 
have  grown  paler  and  paler  as  the  hours  dragged  slowly 
by.  Her  step  should  have  lost  its  elasticity.  She 
should  have  visibly  declined  day  by  day,  like  some 
sweet  flower  in  the  Autumn-time,  until  at  last  she 
was  so  reduced  as  to  be  unable  to  leave  the  house. 
For  a  few  days  more  she  should  have  sat  by  the  win 
dow  with  an  inexpressibly  sad,  far-away  look  in  her 
eyes.  At  last  the  day  should  have  come  which  saw  her 
carried  to  her  bed  by  loving  arms,  never  to  rise  there 
from  again.  Pitying  neighbors  should  have  gathered 
around  her  bedside,  and  sung  that  soothing  song: 

"  I  would  not  live  always :  no,  welcome  the  tomb  ; " 

knowing,  every  one  of  them,  that  if  old  Father  Time 
had  happened  along  about  that  moment  with  his  sickle, 
they  would  have  tied  from  the  room  through  the  near 
est  door.  Finally,  when  the  imprisoned  soul  had  worn 
out  the  body,  she  should  have  opened  her  eyes,  looked 
fondly  at  mother  and  brother,  smiled  sweetly,  and  then 
soared  away  to  the  regions  of  eternal  day. 

But  whatever  should  have  happened  according  to 
the  rules  of  propriety,  it  must  be  recorded  that  none  of 
the  things  supposed  did  happen.  Katie  did  not  droop 


THE    FIRST    WEDDING.  493 

or  die.  True,  she  did  suffer.  She  did  mourn  for  her 
father.  She  did  pity  her  mother.  She  did  bear  about 
with  her,  locked  up  in  her  breast,  the  memory  of  a  love 
so  true  and  strong  and  tender  that  the  busy  cares  of  a 
hundred  years,  could  she  live  so  long,  would  leave  her 
heart  unalterably  the  same.  And  yet  she  did  not  fade 
away  into  the  tomb.  No,  no,  she  was  too  brave  for 
that.  In  an  hour  of  weakness  she  had  sought  to  take 
her  own  life,  but  that  hour  was  past  now,  and  with  it 
her  weakness  was  gone  forever. 

Despair  can  not  prey  upon  those  who  are  actively 
employed.  Upon  such,  grief  exerts  a  softening  and  re 
fining  influence.  It  can  not  drive  them  into  madness 
and  suicide.  And  so  Katie  was  safe,  for  she  was  actively 
employed. 

In  the  first  place,  when  the  college  opened  in  Sep 
tember  she  took  her  accustomed  place  with  the  matricu 
lates,  and  continued  to  be  what  she  had  been  during 
the  previous  session,  a  diligent,  earnest  student  With 
her  mind  concentrated  on  her  books,  she  found  little 
opportunity  for  tears. 

In  the  next  place,  she  manifested  an  increased 
devotion  to  the  work  of  her  church,  and  those  active 
charities  among  the  suffering  and  needy  which  consti 
tute  the  highest  expression  of  true  Christianity.  When 
poor  little  Jimmy  Sykes  was  sick,  she  carried  flowers 
to  him,  and  sat  by  his  bedside  in  the  dingy,  uncom 
fortable  room,  cheering  him  with  her  presence,  and  ad 
ministering  to  his  wants.  A  portion  of  the  money 
allotted  to  her  for  her  personal  expenses  was  set  apart 
as  an  offering  for  the  poor,  and  for  the  benevolent  en 
terprises  of  her  church.  She  was  by  no  means  per 
fect;  she  did  not  claim  to  be  one  of  your  infallible 
saints,  the  double-distilled  essence  of  holiness,  who 
wouldn't  sin  if  she  could,  and  couldn't  if  she  would; 
but  only  a  true,  earnest,  devoted  follower  of  Christ, 
who  was  seeking  to  do  some  good  in  the  world,  to  make 
some  home  happier,  and  some  heart  better  because  she 
had  lived. 


494  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

In  the  third  place,  Katie  was  now  taking  a  promi 
nent  part  in  the  various  temperance  organizations  of 
Wellington.  Here  Elizabeth  Oakford  was  her  yoke 
fellow.  And  while  it  does  seem  that  she  was  getting  a 
great  many  irons  into  the  fire,  it  is  nevertheless  true 
that  she  bore  her  part  well  in  every  department  of 
labor  in  which  she  was  engaged. 

Thus  employed,  Katie  had  little  time  to  devote  to 
an  unavailing  grief.  She  sought  not  society ;  but  at 
the  same  time  she  did  not  avoid  her  friends,  or  run 
post-haste  to  a  nunnery  when  she  saw  one  of  the  op 
posite  sex  approaching.  After  all  this  is  said,  it  re 
mains  true  that  hers  was  a  desolated  heart.  Her  love 
for  William  Manning  had  been  the  one  love  of  her  life. 
The  day  when  the  sunshine  had  shimmered  through 
the  trees  upon  her  at  Mossy  Bank  had  not  been  for 
gotten.  She  was  still  betrothed  to  the  William  Man 
ning  of  that  day,  her  ideal  lover,  though  not  to  the 
William  Manning  who  was  accused  of  the  murder  of 
her  father.  In  the  course  of  time  it  seemed  to  be 
come  understood  among  her  acquaintances  that  she  had 
determined  never  to  marry.  The  stronger  this  impres 
sion  became,  the  more  ardently  attached  to  her  be 
came  those  damsels  who  had  formerly  spoken  of  her  in 
those  terms  which  only  jealousy  knows  how  to  use. 
Lyman  Sawtheaire  abandoned  all  hope  of  winning  her 
affections.  And  thus  Katie  maintained  resolutely  her 
purpose  of  fidelity  to  her  first  and  only  love. 

But  Katie's  friend,  Jennie  Ingleside,  was  of  another 
temperament  altogether.  She  confessed  that  she  had 
done  her  best  to  capture  William  Manning  in  the  days 
of  his  prosperity  at  Wellington,  and  had  made  a  signal 
failure,  doubtless  because  his  affections  were  concentra 
ted  on  a  worthier  object.  Her  failure  seemed  prov 
idential  now,  she  said.  What  a  terrible  thing  it  would 
have  been  to  have  been  engaged  to  an  embryonic  mur 
derer  !  At  any  rate,  she  had  always  contended  that 
one  live  lover  was  worth  ten  dead  ones,  and  one  near 
at  hand,  within  easy  reach,  was  more  to  be  desired  than 


THE    FIRST    WEDDING.  495 

an  indefinite  number  at  a  distance.  Having  made  a 
failure  in  her  first  venture,  she  announced  to  some  of 
her  friends  that  she  was  determined  to  embark  in  an 
other  direction  and  upon  other  seas,  in  the  hope  that 
she  might  finally  sail  happily  into  port  with  some  de 
sirable  prize  in  tow.  She  positively  asserted  that  her 
mission  in  life  was  not  to  convert  cannibals,  but  to  get 
married  and  sway  the  imperial  scepter  over  a  single 
household ;  that  she  would  rather  stumble  into  the 
grave  while  fresh  and  rosy  and  attractive,  than  live  to 
an  old  age  as  a  solitary  and  withered  old  maid. 

Now  Jennie  was  lovely ;  there  is  no  use  in  attempt 
ing  to  deny  the  fact.  Her  tongue  did  indeed  rattle 
like  a  sewing  machine,  but  there  was  at  leant  some 
method  in  her  madness,  and  it  is  possible  that  she  only 
boldly  avowed  what  nine  out  of  ten  girls  think,  but 
would  not  say  for  the  world.  For  this  reason  Jennie 
was  called  fast.  She  should  have  avowed  that  she 
would  not  marry  the  best  man  living,  for  then  she 
would  have  been  credited  by  the  world  with  excessive 
modesty.  But  this  wasn't  Jennie's  way.  What  she 
thought  in  secret  she  proclaimed  upon  the  housetop. 

Marion  Spence,  being  no  longer  a  saloon-keeper, 
but  an  honorable  dry-goods  merchant,  Jennie  thought- 
it  might  be  worth  while  to  make  a  few  experiments  in 
that  direction.  She  had  sometimes  thought  it  would 
be  highly  romantic  to  marry  a  reformed  drunkard ;  and 
now  concluded  that,  in  the  absence  of  the  reformed 
drunkard,  a  reformed  saloon-keeper  was  not  to  be  de 
spised.  So  Jennie  patronized  the  store  of  Mansfield  and 
Spence.  She  bought  thread  and  ribbons,  and  invari 
ably  contrived  to  be  waited  upon  by  the  junior  mem 
ber  of  the  firm.  The  reason  assigned  for  this  prefer 
ence  was  that  Colonel  Mansfield  was  so  "slow  and 
pokey."  And  yet  Spence  must  have  been  provokingly 
slow,  for  it  sometimes  took  her  from  half  to  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour  to  buy  a  single  spool  of  thread. 
And  the  amount  of  thread  used  at  the  Ingleside  man 
sion  was  incalculable ! 


496  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

Well,  the  result  of  the  whole  affair  was  just  what 
might  have  been  expected.  The  old  women  of  the 
community  all  agreed  that  they  had  foreseen  it  from 
the  beginning.  Marion  Spence  was  a  soft-hearted  old 
bachelor — let  us  not  say  soft-headed,  for  it  is  by  no 
means  certain  that  the  man  is  soft-headed  who  marries 
Jennie — and  yielded  unconditionally  to  her  captivating 
glances.  How  could  he  help  himself?  She  was  love 
ly  and  good,  and  her  father,  who  loved  her  devotedly, 
was  rich,  and  she  was  the  only  child.  Such  a  combi 
nation  of  charms  was  too  much  for  poor  Spence,  and 
he  fell  with  an  arrow  through  his  heart  at  the  first 
serious  engagement. 

The  catastrophe  did  not  take  place  during  a  stroll 
over  the  heather  "under  the  beautiful  stars,"  nor  in 
some  romantic  dell  in  the  forest,  nor  by  the  glowing 
fireside  on  a  frosty  night,  but  it  happened  in  the 
following  matter-of-fact  manner. 

One  day  when  the  Colonel  had  gone  to  the  post- 
office,  and  no  fifth  eye  was  present,  and  Jennie  was  en 
deavoring  to  perform  the  herculean  task  of  selecting  a 
spool  of  thread,  she  happened  to  look  up  into  Spence's 
face  with  such  a  bewitching  expression,  and  to  touch 
his  hand  so  thrillingly  with  her  pretty  little  fingers, 
that  he  gave  up  the  struggle  then  and  there,  and 
stammered  out  something  about  love  ere  he  was  aware. 
He  was  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  counter  for  the  ap 
propriate  emphasis  of  his  words,  but  he  made  the  best 
of  an  awkward  situation,  extended  his  arms  across  the 
counter  and  seized  her  by  the  neck,  and  inasmuch  as 
she  met,  him  half  way,  he  succeeded  in  planting  on  her 
rosy  lips  an  initiatory  kiss.  He  begged  her  to  be  his, 
the  charm  of  his  life,  the  lodestone  of  his  existence, 
the  guardian  angel  over  his  checkered  pathway ;  and 
she  answered  rapturously  for  him  not  to  get  alarmed 
or  excited,  that  he  could  have  her  and  welcome,  for 
better  or  worse.  Spence  was  just  thinking  of  scaling 
the  counter  which  separated  him  from  his  beloved,  for 
this  vis-a-vis  method  of  courtship  was  highly  exas- 


THE    FIRST    WEDDING.  497 

perating,  when  a  well  known  steady  tramp  was  heard 
approaching  the  store,  and  the  unwelcome  countenance 
of  Colonel  Mansfield  immediately  afterward  beamed 
upon  them.  Jennie,  armed  with  her  spool  of  thread, 
tripped  softly  out  of  the  store,  and  Marion  Spence  be 
gan  whistling  unconcernedly — very  unconcernedly,  he 
thought,  considering — and  to  adjust  certain  bolts  of 
ginghams  and  calicoes  on  the  shelves.  But  the  bright 
flush  on  Jennie's  face  and  the  nervousness  of  Spence's 
fingers  did  not  escape  the  Colonel's  eye,  and  he 
chuckled  and  said  to^  himself,  as  he  opened  his  news 
paper,  "  What  fools  these  mortals  be!"  And  then  he 
grew  serious  as  he  remembered  how  he  had  made  a 
like  delightful  fool  of  himself  many  years  ago  at  a 
husking-bee  in  old  Kentucky  ! 

Jennie  did  not  believe  in  long  engagements,  and 
intimated  as  much  to  her  betrothed.  "Something 
might  happen,"  she  said  demurely,  thinking  of  two  or 
three  matches  which  had  been  broken  up  by  age. 

"Yes,  darling,  "he  answered,  "one  of  us  might  die, 
and  then  we  would  never  have  been  married.  Let  us 
marry  next  month,  provided  you  can  get  ready." 

"Oh,  I  can  get  ready,"  she  said  innocently. 
"Why,  Mr.  Spence,,  I  could  get  ready  in  one  week." 

The  last  statement  settled  the  question.  One  week 
from  that  day  they  would  be  married. 

It  came  to  pass,  therefore,  that  in  the  month  of 
September,  1877,  something  more  than  a  year  after  the 
death  of  Henry  Anderson,  while  Katie,  who  had  just 
returned  from  college  through  the  rain,  was  laying  off 
her  wraps  and  taking  off  her  rubbers,  a  gentle  and  coo 
ing  knock  was  heard  at  the  door,  to  which  Katie  im 
mediately  responded.  It  was  Jennie  ;  and  her  business 
must  have  been  of  the  utmost  importance  to  drag  her 
from  her  home  to  see  Katie  while  the  equinoctial  storm 
was  raging  in  all  its  fury.  If  Katie  entertained  any 
doubt  of  the  importance  of  this  visit,  that  doubt  van 
ished  when  Jennie  requested  the  favor  of  an  immediate 
private  interview. 


498  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

They  went  upstairs  to  Katie's  room.  Jennie  put 
her  arm  around  her  friend's  waist  and  gently  drew  her 
to  the  window,  where  they  stood  for  a  moment,  with 
out  uttering  a  word,  looking  out  at  the  dashing  rain, 
and  watching  it  form  in  drops  on  the  twigs  of  the  trees 
and  fall  on  the  grass  below,  or  seek  the  trunks  and  run 
thence  in  well  defined  rivulets  to  the  ground. 

"Katie,"  said  Jennie,  giving  her  at  the  same  time 
a  confidential  pressure,  "I  'm  going — will  you  ever  tell 
anybody?  Promise  me  never  to  tell  —  I  mean,  of 
course,  till  it 's  all  over!" 

Katie  readily  gave  the  desired  promise,  having  di 
vined  the  important  secret,  however,  from  her  com 
panion's  innocent,  telltale  manner. 

"Well,  then,  "said  Jennie — "now  you  mustn't  ever 
tell — if  you  ever  do,  I  '11  never  forgive  you — I  'm  going 
to  be — now  Katie,  if  you  laugh,  I  '11  be  mad  sure — well, 
as  I  was  going  to  say,  I  'm  to  be — to  be  married  in  one 
week  from  to-day !  Just  think  of  it !  Won  't  it  be 
fearful?  What '11  I  ever  do?  I  know  I'll  be  frightened 
half  to  death !" 

Katie  kissed  Jennie  and  congratulated  her,  as 
girls  always  do  under  such  circumstances,  and  then 
said: 

"I  suppose  Mr.  Spence  is  to  be  the  happy  bride 
groom." 

"Why,  of  course — everybody  knows  that.  Papa 
says  it 's  the  town  talk.  Some  of  the  girls  turn  up  their 
noses  at  him  because  he  used  to  keep  a  saloon — but 
I  think  he  's  awfully  nice.  I  understand  that  that  nice 
Miss  Dainty  Bluesash  says  I  must  be  hard  up  to  get 
married  to  take  an  ex-saloon-keeper.  The  first  time  I 
see  the  spiteful  puss,  I  'm  going  to  give  her  a  piece  of 
my  mind.  She  '11  die  an  old  maid,  that 's  what  she  '11 
do,  and  you  mark  it!" 

Here  Katie  asked  the  very  important  question : 

"  What  are  you  going  to  wear?" 

Thereupon  Jennie  gave  a  detailed  description  of  her 
bridal  costume. 


THE    FIRST    WEDDING.  499 

"  Why,  how  in  the  world  can  you  get  all  that  done 
in  one  week  ?"  asked  Katie. 

"You  see,  dearest  Katie,  I've  been  getting  ready 
for  several  weeks.  I  knew  he  couldn't  put  me  off 
longer  than  Christmas,  and  I  believe  in  being  ready 
when  you  're  asked  for — that  is,  if  you  love  your 
sweetheart;  and  if  you  don't  love  him,  you  oughtn't 
to  be  ready  at  all.  And  so  I  'm  to  be  married  in  one 
week,  and  you  must*be  my  chief  bridesmaid." 

Katie  trembled  just  a  little  when  Jennie  said  this, 
and  looked  out  of  the  window  at  the  dreary  dripping 
of  the  rain.  She  could  not  act  as  bridesmaid,  she 
said.  Jennie  must  excuse  her.  She  would  go  to  the 
wedding  and  witness  her  friend's  happiness,  but  she 
could  not  act  as  bridesmaid. 

Jennie's  careless,  thoughtless  air  was  all  gone  in  an 
instant,  and  she  grew  very  solemn.  She  kissed  Katie's 
quivering  lips  and  turned  away,  lest  Katie  should  see 
the  tears  which  had  gathered  in  her  own  eyes.  She 
knew  from  the  sympathy  her  own  happiness  had  en 
gendered  what  a  desolate  feeling  must  be  crushing  the 
dear  girl  at  her  side ;  and  she  knew  how  unutterably 
miserable  she  herself  would  be  if  her  prospect  of  a 
happy  marriage  should  be  blighted  as  her  friend's  had 
been. 

After  some  further  conversation,  Jennie  tripped 
gaily  out  into  the  storm,  and  Katie  returned  to  her  room 
and  cried  softly  there  for  a  long  time,  while  the  rain 
storm  without  furnished  a  sad  accompaniment  for  the 
minor  chords  of  despair  in  her  soul.  "O  my  sweet 
love  !  "  she  moaned.  "Come  back  to  me — come  back, 
my  darling!"  And  the  rain  beat  upon  the  window- 
panes  and  the  wind  whistled  dolefully  in  the  chimneys, 
and  seemed  to  say:  "That  can  never  be.  Your  lover 
is  dead  to  you  forever  and  evermore." 

Then  the  words  of  the  poet  crowded,  uninvited 
into  her  brain : 

"  My  life  is  cold,  and  dark,  and  dreary  ; 
It  rains,  and  the  wind  is  never  weary  ; 


5OO  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

My  thoughts  still  cling  to  the  mouldering  Past, 
But  the  hopes  of  youth  fall  thick  in  the  blast, 
And  the  days  are  dark  and  dreary." 

How  hard  it  was  for  her  to  divorce  her  heart  from 
its  love,  even  though  the  object  of  her  love  was  an 
adventurer,  or  a  murderer.  It  seemed  almost  like 
treason  against  her  father,  now  dead  and  in  his  grave ; 
yes,  against  her  mother  and  brother,  and  her  own  bet 
ter  nature,  for  her  to  entertain  a  single  loving  thought 
for  William  Manning.  And  yet — and  yet  she  was 
even  now  thinking  of  him,  and  her  heart  was  well  nigh 
breaking  because  of  him.  Yes,  she  could  not  deny 
the  truth,  she  was  even  now  longing  to  see  him — to 
hear  him  speak  once  more.  And  yet,  notwithstanding 
all  these  tears  and  heart-aches,  it  is  safe  to  say  that  if 
William  Manning  had  appeared  before  her  at  that 
moment,  she  would  have  dried  her  tears  and  ordered 
him  to  leave  forever  the  home  of  his  murdered  victim. 

Katie  washed  away  her  tears,  smoothed  back  her 
glossy  hair,  and  descended  to  the  kitchen.  She  put 
her  arms  around  her  mother's  neck  and  kissed  her, 
and  begged  her  to  go  to  the  sitting-room  and  rest  her 
self.  "I'll  get  the  supper,"  she  said.  "You  are 
always  making  a  slave  of  yourself  for  James  and  me." 
If  Mrs.  Anderson  thought  Katie  even  more  tender 
than  usual,  and  thanked  God  for  giving  her  such  de 
voted  children,  she  did  not  understand  the  real  cause 
of  her  daughter's  excess  of  tenderness.  Grief  had 
softened  the  heart  and  refined  away  its  selfishness. 

Jennie's  wedding  day  was  as  bright  and  balmy  as  a 
bride  could  wish.  At  the  appointed  hour  Squire  In- 
gleside's  house  was  crowded  with  guests.  Jennie 
looked  very  lovely,  as  brides  always  do,  and  Marion 
Spence  appeared  very  happy,  as  he  certainly  ought  to 
have  been.  Mrs.  Ingleside  shed  a  small  quantity  of 
tears,  as  becomes  a  good  mother  on  such  a  solemn  oc 
casion.  True,  she  had  been  using  her  utmost  endeav 
ors  during  the  last  two  years  to  hasten  the  auspicious 
moment  when  her  daughter  should  become  somebody's 


THE    FIRST    WEDDING.  5OI 

wife ;  but  now  that  the  event  was  accomplished,  she 
experienced  a  very  gentle  feeling  of  sadness.  The 
shower  soon  passed  away,  however,  and  the  mother 
was  presently  as  gay  as  a  bride  herself.  The  Squire 
was  in  the  clouds. 

"  Nothing  like  a  wedding  to  brace  an  old  man  up," 
he  said.  "  I  feel  as  fresh  as  a  morning-glory." 

"At  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  an  August 
day,"  suggested  Haynes. 

The  Squire  proceeded  to  shake  hands  with  all  the 
young  ladies,  and  wish  them  the  speedy  approach  of  their 
own  wedding-day.  At  which  some  of  the  girls  blushed, 
others  looked  hopeless,  and  others  said  "Amen." 

After  their  honeymoon,  Marion  Spence  and  his  bride 
settled  down  to  house-keeping,  and  got  along  as  happily 
and  contentedly  from  that  time  on  as  two  cooing  doves. 

Winter  came,  with  its  frost  and  snow ;  with  its 
widely  differing  scenes  of  wealth  and  poverty  ;  with  its 
bright  firesides  and  happy  homes  here,  and  its  cheerless 
hearths  and  empty  cupboards  yonder ;  with  its  alterna 
ting  tales  of  plenty  and  want,  of  joy  and  sorrow.  And 
after  Winter  came  the  Spring,  with  its  fresh  winds  and 
rejuvenating  influences.  Trees  put  forth  their  leaves 
and  bloomed ;  and  the  busy  hand  of  industry  turned 
the  barren  field  into  a  fruitful  garden.  And  then  came 
Summer,  with  its  shady  woods,  and  quiet  brooks,  and 
flowery  dells.  Nearly  two  years  had  now  passed  away 
since  the  mound  of  earth  had  been  heaped  up  over  the 
body  of  Henry  Anderson.  In  the  meantime  no  start 
ling  changes  had  taken  place  in  the  outward  life  of  any 
one  with  whom  we  are  especially  concerned.  James 
was  still  a  student  of  medicine.  Katie  had  graduated 
with  highest  honors,  and  was  now  industriously  pre 
paring  herself  for  the  vocation  of  a  teacher,  to  which 
she  had  elected  to  devote  her  life.  Mrs.  Anderson  ap 
peared  slightly  older,  but  was  otherwise  the  same 
sweet,  amiable  woman  she  was  when  the  reader  first 
knew  her. 


5O2  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

In  the  meantime  a  society  for  the  study  of  religious 
literature  had  been  organized  in  Wellington,  composed 
exclusively  of  young  women,  among  whom  were  Katie 
Anderson  and  Mrs.  Jennie  Spence.  They  had  held  two 
or  three  open-air  meetings  at  Mossy  Bank  this  Spring 
and  Summer,  which  said  meetings  had  not  been  devoted 
wholly  to  the  study  of  religious  literature. 

One  day  James  brought  home  to  his  sister  the  in 
formation  that  the  members  of  the  society,  for  whom, 
as  such,  he  entertained  a  species  of  contempt,  would 
have  to  hold  their  conventions  somewhere  else  for  the 
future,  as  Colonel  Mansfield,  who  owned  Mossy  Bank 
and  the  adjacent  woods,  had  decided  to  clear,  fence  and 
pasture  the  tract.  The  Colonel  had  said  that  he  ex 
pected  a  general  outcry  of  the  young  ladies  at  the 
desecration  of  this  beautiful  place,  but  that  he  could 
not  afford  any  longer  to  furnish  picnic  grounds  for  the 
community.  Katie  seemed  excited  over  this  piece  of 
intelligence,  and  begged  James  to  go  and  buy  Mossy 
Bank  at  once. 

"Buy  Mossy  Bank!"  exclaimed  James.  "The 
Colonel  owns  ten  acres  of  ground  there,  and  won't  sell 
a  part  unless  he  can  sell  all,  and  wants  thirty  dollars  an 
acre  for  the  tract.  Do  you  suppose  I  'm  going  to  pay 
three  hundred  dollars  for  a  park  for  your  entertain 
ments?  No,  dearest  Katie,  you  can  read  little  pam 
phlets  and  eat  your  little  porringers  at  home !  " 

"But,  my  dearest  brother, "  said  Katie,  "wise  and 
learned  disciple  of  ^Esculapius,  prospective  wielder  of 
the  lancet  and  prescriber  of  pills,  I  don't  expect  you  to 
pay  for  the  place.  I  want  it  for  myself,  and  I  reckon 
part  of  the  estate  belongs  to  me.  They  shall  never 
make  a  cow-pasture  of  Mossy  Bank  while  I  live,  if  I 
have  to  sell  my  best  clothes  to  pay  for  it !  I'm  going 
to  have  my  way  once — just  this  once." 

James  laughed,  and  told  her  she  would  have  to  bow 
to  the  inevitable.  But  it  was  not  an  occasion  for  trifling 
on  Katie's  part.  Mossy  Bank  was  the  scene  of  thy 
happiest  moments  of  her  existence,  and  was  double 


THE    FIRST   WEDDING.  5<D3 

dear  now  that  all  her  hopes  for  the  future  associated 
with  the  place  had  failed  her.  That  afternoon,  this  reso 
lute  little  maiden  went  to  the  store  of  Mansfield  and 
Spence,  and  actually  had  the  audacity  to  buy  the  said 
ten  acres  of  ground.  The  Colonel  sold  to  her  for  two 
hundred  and  seventy-five  dollars — less,  he  averred, 
than  he  would  have  consented  to  let  anyone  else  have 
the  land  for.  Her  mother  disapproved  of  what  she  had 
done,  and  James  insisted  that  she  had  made  a  foolish 
purchase ;  but  Katie  answered  that  she  could  soon  pay 
for  the  tract  by  teaching  ;  and,  persistent  young  woman 
that  she  was,  she  held  out  valorously,  and  won  the 
battle.  She  received  the  deed  for  the  land,  and  paid 
the  purchase  money,  and  rejoiced  in  the  knowledge  of 
the  fact  that  she  was  the  owner  of  Mossy  Bank,  and 
that  the  profane  axe  of  the  woodman  no  longer  threat 
ened  its  sacred  precincts.  That  night  she  sat  down  by 
her  window,  without  any  light  to  interfere  with  the 
vividness  of  her  recollections,  and  lived  over  again  the 
happy  hours  she  had  passed  at  Mossy  Bank ;  nor  did 
she  notice  the  flight  of  time  till  the  clock  struck  twelve, 
and  admonished  her  that  she  should  leave  off  dreaming 
and  seek  repose. 

Some  members  of  the  society  had  decided  to  visit 
Chautauqua  Lake  this  Summer  during  the  session  of  the 
Assembly,  and  had  been  urging  Katie  to  go  with  them ; 
but  having  become  a  landed  proprietor,  at  an  expense 
of  two  hundred  and  seventy-five  dollars,  this  economical 
young  woman  thought  she  could  not  afford  to  go.  Her 
mother  and  brother  insisted  that  she  needed  the  recrea 
tion.  Her  visit  to  Kentucky,  they  said,  had  been  in 
terrupted  at  the  very  beginning.  She  had  seen  but 
little  of  the  world.  She  was  about  to  enter  upon  a  life 
of  hard  work  in  the  school-room.  Before  doing  so,  it 
would  be  well  for  her  to  go  to  Chautauqua  with  her 
companions,  and  renew  her  strength  and  revive  her 
spirits  at  the  shore  of  the  beautiful  lake. 

Katie  brought  out  her  atlas,  and  examined  the  exact 
spot  where  the  Assembly  grounds  were  said  to  be  lo- 


504  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

cated,  and  then  took  a  hasty  inventory  of  neighboring 
points  of  interest.  At  the  other  end  of  the  lake,  she 
saw  the  word  Jamestown.  She  had  known  for  years 
that  such  a  city  was  there,  but  her  glance  at  the  name 
on  the  map  gave  her  at  this  moment  a  strange  sen 
sation. 

"Jamestown!  Jamestown !"  she  said  to  herself. 
"  Tha"  is  where  Bessie  Lowell  lives,  for  the  card  on  her 
trunk  said,  'Bessie  Lowell,  Jamestown,  N.  Y.'  I  be 
lieve  i  '11  go.  Yes,  I  do  need  the  recreation  before  I 
begin  my  winter's  work!  " 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

KATIE    AT    CHAUTAUQUA. 

Katie  had  but  two  companions  with  her  on  her 
arrival  at  Chautauqua  Lake,  as  the  post-office  was  then 
called,  and  these  were  Mabel  Shirley  and  Ettie  Mont 
gomery.  Others  of  the  society  had  intended  going; 
but  as  is  usual  in  such  cases,  the  majority  failed  to 
secure  the  necessary  dresses  ribbons  and  laces  in  time, 
and  consequently  were  compelled  to  remain  at  home. 
The  three  girls  found  a  quiet,  comfortable  boarding- 
house  at  the  home  of  a  widow  named  Merriam,  and  pro 
ceeded  to  unpack  their  trunks,  display  their  millinery, 
stack  their  books  upon  a  table,  and  to  make  other 
suitable  preparations  for  an  aggressive  campaign  during 
the  ensuing  weeks. 

That  evening  Mrs.  Merriam  gave  them  to  under 
stand,  in  a  semi-mysterious  way,  that  the  number  of 
her  boarders  would  be  increased  on  the  following  day 
by  the  arrival  of  some  desirable  acquaintances  from 
Jamestown,  who  had  rendezvoused  on  her  premises 
during  the  preceding  summer,  and  for  whom  she  had  a 
motherly  regard.  When  pressed  for  particulars  as  to 
sex,  age  and  name,  she  maintained  for  a  time  a  provok 
ing  silence,  and  then  informed  them  that  the  two  ex 
pected  boarders  were  Amy  Matson  and  Bessie  Lowell. 
Mabel  said  she  was  glad  they  were  not  young  gentlemen, 
and  Ettie  appeared  to  lose  all  interest  in  the  subject. 
Katie  received  the  information  with  a  strange  little 
flutter  of  her  heart,  which  was  certainly  not  shared  by 
her  companions.  Thus,  at  last,  she  was  to  meet  the 
fair  young  creature  who  had  unconsciously  destroyed 
her  hopes  of  happiness. 

Sure  enough,  the  following  day  brought  the  two 
girls  to  -Chautauqua.  They  were  received  by  Mrs. 
Merriam  with  the  enthusiasm  due  to  old  acquaintances 


$C>6  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

from  the  keeper  of  a  boarding-house,  and  were  intro 
duced  to  the  Wellington  girls  with  all  becoming  for 
malities.  The  young  misses  seemed  to  think  that  the 
manifestation  of  too  much  eagerness  to  cultivate  ore 
another's  acquaintance  might  be  taken  as  a  concession 
of  superiority  to  the  not-me,  and  result  in  the  loss  of 
prestige.  So  they  eyed  one  another  askance  and 
bowed  stiffly,  and  then  segregated  into  two  groups.; 
that  is  to  say,  the  Wellington  group,  composed  of 
three,  and  the  Jamestown  group,  composed  of  two ;  the 
Wellington  group  saying  very  plainly  by  their  de 
meanor,  "We'll  give  you  to  understand  that  we  are 
from  Wellington,  Illinois,  and  we  're  not  savages  or 
ignoramuses,  either;  and  we  do  n't  propose  to  knuckle 
down  to  you  eastern  folks  just  because  you  live  closer 
to  Boston  than  we  do;"  and  the  Jamestown  group 
saying  just  as  plainly,  "You  are  nobody  but  western 
girls,  and  we  're  from  the  East,  we  are,  and  we  have  n't 
quite  made  up  our  minds  yet  whether  we  can  afford  to 
fellowship  you  or  not. "  But  they  were  all  nice,  bright, 
sensible  girls,  and  only  needed  to  understand  one 
another  to  become  the  warmest  of  friends.  Quick 
witted  Mrs.  Merriam,  the  success  of  whose  business 
depended  on  harmony  among  her  boarders,  in  a  few 
hours  effected  a  union  between  the  opposing  factions, 
and  the  girls  became  fast  friends,  and  had  an  enjoyable 
time  at  Chautauqua  together  thenceforward. 

That  very  night,  before  Miss  Bessie  Lowell  retired 
to  rest,  she  wrote  and  addressed  a  letter  to  one  William 
Huntington,  Esq.,  Jamestown,  New  York.  At  the 
earliest  opportunity  the  next  day  she  sought  the  post- 
office  and  mailed  her  letter.  Her  letter  was  as  follows  : 

"  DEAR  BROTHER  : — It  is  now  bedtime,  and  I  can  not  write  you  a 
long  letter.  Nor  is  it  necessary ;  for  you  are  not  expecting  a  letter  at 
all,  and  therefore  even  a  short  one  is  a  matter  of  grace  and  not  of  debt, 
as  the  theologians  say,  and  should  be  thankfully  received, 

"  Amy  and  I  are  pleasantly  domiciled  at  Mother  Merriam's,  as  we 
call  her.  She  is  the  best  old  soul  imaginable ;  but  you  know  that  as 
well  as  we  do.  And  now  I  come  to  the  point  of  my  letter.  Who  do 
you  think  we  have  found  here  ?  (There  now,  brother,  do  n't  criticise  me. 
You  know  I  never  could  tell  when  to  say  who  and  when  to  say  whom. 


KATIE   AT   CHAUTAUQUA.  507 

Bat  that 's  a  small  matter  compared  with  what's  to  follow.)  We  have 
found  at  this  very  kouse  three  girls  you  know  very  well,  I  '11  be  bound. 
And  wkat  is  worse,  they  undoubtedly  know  you.  They  have  n't  said  so, 
but  I  'm  very  sure  my  haidsome  brother  did  n't  live  several  years  in 
Wellington  without  becoming  known  to  all  the  girls  of  the  community. 
If  I  had  been  one  of  them  I  'd  have  been  after  you,  sure,  and  I  judge 
the  rest  of  my  susceptible  sex  by  myself. 

"Well,  these  girls  are  Katie  Anderson,  Mabel  Shirley  and  Ettie 
Montgomery,  and  they  are  from  Wellington.  I  know  very  little  about 
them  as  yet,  though  I  think  I  '11  like  them;  they  have  the  freshness  and 
simplicity  of  children  of  nature,  you  know.  I  do  n't  remember  of  ever 
hearing  you  mention  either  of  them,  which  seems  very  strange  to  me,  for 
Katie  Anderson  especially  is  as  sweet  as  an  opening  rosebud.  (I  'm  full 
blown). 

"  Now,  brother,  Anderson  was  the  name  of  the  man  who  was  killed 
the  night  you  left  Wellington.  I  have  n't  yet  found  out  whether  this  girl 
is  related  to  him  in  any  way,  but  I  believe  she  is.  I  don't  care  who  she 
is  kin  to;  she  is  sweet  and  pretty  and  all  that,  and  I  know  I  'm  going  to 
like  her.  But  there,  I  'm  rambling  from  the  point  again.  Sweet  or  sour, 
what  matters  it,  as  far  as  this  letter  is  concerned.  I  'm  not  writing  to 
excite  your  curiosity,  but  to  warn  you  that  these  Wellington  girls  are 
here.  Everything  else  is  dictum,  as  you  lawyers  say.  When  I  left 
home  you  spoke  about  coming  over  here  for  a  day  or  two.  Do  n't  you 
dare  to  come.  These  girls  will  know  you  —  I  'm  sure  they  will  —  and 
then  the  next  step  in  the  tragedy  will  be  the  descent  of  the  Wellington 
sheriff.  I  don't  care  how  innocent  you  are — of  course,  /know  you  are 
innocent — there  isn't  any  sense  in  sticking  your  head  into  the  noose  till 
you  have  to.  Now,  mind  what  I  say — don't  come  near  Chautauqua. 

"  There,  now,  I  can  not  write  any  longer.     Good  bye. 
"Your  loving  sister, 

"BESSIE  LOWELL." 

As  Bessie  dropped  this  letter  into  the  letter-box  at 
the  postoffice  she  said  to  herself:  "I  feel  easier  now. 
How  dreadful  it  would  have  been  if  Willie  had  come 
with  us,  as  he  talked  of  doing.  My  letter  will  put 
him  on  his  guard,  and  he  '11  not  be  seen  at  Chautauqua 
this  season,  I  warrant  you."  And  yet  it  is  barely  pos 
sible  that  Bessie's  letter  may  have  an  effect  directly  the 
opposite  of  that  intended. 

The  following  evening,  after  supper,  Katie  and  Bes 
sie  abandoned  their  companions  to  a  highly  interesting 
game  of  croquet,  and  strolled  down  to  the  lake  to  enjoy 
the  refreshing  coolness  of  the  evening  breeze,  and  revel 
in  the  glories  of  the  dying  day.  They  took  off  their  hats 
as  they  walked  along  the  sandy  beach.  Soon  the  rip 
pling  cadence  of  the  restless  waters  and  the  crimson  of 


5O8  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

the  western  sky  ceased  to  delight  them.  They  were 
thinking  of  each  other,  and  considering  the  best  way 
of  catechising  each  other  without  arousing  suspicion. 
Bessie  was  anxious  to  learn  all  the  particulars  of  the 
Anderson  murder,  of  which  she  had  seen  what  she 
supposed  to  be  grossly  exaggerated  accounts  in  the 
newspapers.  She  was  especially  anxious  to  know  the 
feeling  of  the  citizens  of  Wellington  towards  her  broth 
er,  and  the  evidence  relied  upon  to  establish  his  re 
sponsibility  for  the  crime.  Her  brother  had  been  reti 
cent  on  the  subject.  He  was  either  uninformed  him 
self  except  in  a  general  way,  or  deemed  it  proper  to 
withhold  his  information  even  from  his  nearest  relatives. 
She  believed  him  to  be  innocent.  She  would  have  been 
glad  to  see  him  face  the  charge  and  establish  his  in 
nocence.  And  yet  such  a  course  had  been  deemed 
absolutely  dangerous.  The  newspapers  had  announced 
from  the  beginning  that  if  the  red-handed  murderer 
should  be  caught  there  would  be  no  use  for  court  or 
jury,  but  that  an  infuriated  populace,  driven  to  desper 
ation  by  the  "law's  delay,"  would  mete  out  summary 
justice  to  the  transgressor.  Therefore,  Bessie,  while 
full  of  faith  in  her  brother,  had  nevertheless  written 
him  a  letter,  warning  him  not  to  come  to  Chautauqua, 
lest  he  should  be  recognized,  arrested,  taken  back  to 
Wellington,  and  turned  over  to  a  mob  for  execution 
without  a  trial  or  judicial  condemnation.  Now  she 
thought  Providence  had  favored  her  with  an  opportu 
nity  for  learning  the  accepted  facts  of  the  case  and  the 
state  of  feeling  towards  her  brother  at  Wellington. 
She  would  question  Katie  as  closely  as  she  dared,  and 
report  the  result  at  home.  Perhaps  the  case  against 
him  was  weak  after  all ;  perhaps  all  excitement  had 
subsided,  and  there  was  no  longer  any  danger  to  be  ap 
prehended  from  mob  violence  if  he  should  wish  to  re 
turn  to  Wellington  and  free  himself  from  the  stigma  of 
this  terrible  accusation.  She  was  not.  cognizant  of  the 
fact  that  Katie  had  seen  her  and  learned  that  she  was 
in  some  way  intimately  connected  with  William  Man- 


KATIE    AT    CHAUTAUQUA.  509 

ning.  Therefore  she  thought  she  could  safely  press 
her  inquiries  within  any  reasonable  limits. 

"  I  believe  you  live  at  Wellington,  Illinois  ?  "  began 
Bessie,  with  a  rising  inflection,  indicating  that  the  state 
ment  was  intended  to  be  a  question. 

Katie  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

"  Where  is  Wellington,  any  way?  "asked  Bessie. 
"Somewhere  near  Chicago,  isn't  it?" 

"You  know  very  well  where  it  is,"  thought  Katie, 
"but  I  must  fall  in  with  and  humor  your  assumed 
ignorance." 

Then  she  said  aloud  :  "It  is  nearer  Peoria  than  Chi 
cago." 

"  Peoria  !  Peoria!  "  said  Bessie  musingly.  "Yes, 
I  know  where  Peoria  is.  I  was  there  about  two  years 
ago.  It  seems  to  be  a  very  nice  little  village." 

"  It's  a  larger  place  than  Jamestown  is,  I  believe," 
was  the  slightly  contemptuous  answer. 

They  walked  on  in  silence  a  few  minutes,  and  then 
turned  and  retraced  their  steps  along  the  beach. 

' '  We  ought  to  know  more  of  each  other  if  we  're 
going  to  be  real,  true  friends,"  said  Bessie,  swinging 
her  hat  by  its  strings.  "Let's  make  an  honest  ex 
change.  Tell  me  all  about  yourself,  and  I  '11  tell  you 
all  about  myself." 

T.he  girls  sat  down  on  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree, 
and  Katie  briefly  rehearsed  her  own  history,  beginning 
with  her  early  life  in  the  country,  and  ending  with  her 
trip  to  Chautauqua.  She  gave  the  particulars  of  her 
father's  murder  and  the  flight  of  William  Manning, 
who  was,  by  common  consent,  charged  with  the  com 
mission  of  the  infamous  crime.  She  refrained  from 
any  allusion  to  the  love  affair  between  herself  and  the 
fugitive  from  justice. 

"  You  say  the  young  man  has  not  been  at  Welling 
ton  since  the  murder?"  asked  Bessie. 

"  He  has  not, "  was  the  answer.  Katie  could  hardly 
restrain  her  lips  from  saying,  "  You  know  he  has  not." 

"  Has  he  never  been  indicted  for  the  crime?  " 


5IO  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"  Yes  ;  he  was  indicted  at  the  next  term  of  court- 
nearly  two  years  ago." 

"Why  don't  the  officers  hunt  him  up?  Surely 
they  could  find  him  if  they  would  try  hard  enough." 

"  He  disappeared  very  mysteriously — left  no  traces 
— and  no  one  at  Wellington  has  any  idea  what  has  be 
come  of  him.  Many  incline  to  think  he  went  to  the 
mountains  of  the  Pacific  slope,  but  I  have  my  reasons 
for  believing  he  came  east,  possibly  to  the  State  of  New 
York." 

Bessie  looked  up  quickly  and  reddened.  The  eyes 
of  the  two  girls  met,  and  for  a  moment  each  thought 
the  other  had  divined  her  secret.  Then  Bessie  arose. 
What  had  caused  the  color  to  leap  into  her  face  ?  Was 
it  anything  that  Katie  had  said?  Was  it  a  fear  that 
William  Manning's  hiding-place  might  be  discovered  ? 
Was  it  because  he  was  close  at  hand?  Or  was  it  from 
the  exertion  of  stooping  down  and  picking  up  a  flat 
tened  pebble  and  shying  it  over  the  surface  of  the 
lake? 

"What  evidence  have  they  against  this  young 
man — Mannering,  I  believe,  you  called  him  a  moment 
ago?"  asked  Bessie. 

"Ah!"  thought  Katie,  "you  sly  little  miss! 
Practicing  deception  again !  You  know  his  name  as  well 
as  I  do,  and  you  know  he  was  called  Manning  at  Welling 
ton,  and  not  Mannering.  You  don't  know  how  much 
I  know  about  you  !"  Then  she  said  aloud  : 

"Manning  is  the  name — not  Mannering.  Well,  it 
is  claimed  in  the  first  place  that  father  and  Mr.  Man 
ning  had  a  quarrel  on  the  very  day  of  the  murder.  It 
is  well  known  that  there  was  an  unpleasant  feeling 
existing  between  them.  But  of  course  that  doesn't 
amount  to  very  much,  especially  of  itself.  I  suppose 
father  had  more  than  one  enemy.  In  the  next  place, 
Mr.  Manning  left  Wellington  that  very  night,  and  has 
never  returned.  He  hired  a  horse  at  the  livery  stable 
and  went  down  the  very  road  where  father  was  killed  at 
the  time  the  murder  must  have  taken  place." 


KATIE    AT    CHAUTAUQUA.  5  I  I 

"Can  that  be  proved  against  him?"  asked  Bessie 
eagerly. 

"I  suppose  it  can.  The  fact  seems  to  be  undis 
puted.  He  was  seen  riding  away  in  that  direction. 
He  stopped  at  a  house  near  the  road  only  a  mile  or  two 
beyond  the  scene  of  the  murder.  He  went  to  the 
river  and  turned  his  horse  loose  there,  and  crossed  over 
to  the  other  side.  The  man  who  rowed  him  over  was 
at  the  inquest,  and  described  William  Manning  ex 
actly." 

"All  this  might  be  true,"  interposed  Bessie,  with  a 
feeling  of  relief,  "and  yet  Mr.  Manning  might  be 
innocent.  It 's  a  hard  thing  to  convict  a  man  on  such 
circumstances.  Still  it  might  be  done.  Innocent  men 
have  been  convicted  on  circumstances,  and  it  might  be 
done  again.  My  brother" — Bessie  checked  herself, 
appeared  embarrassed  for  a  moment,  laughed  un 
concernedly,  and  then  went  on:  "Of  course,  you 
do  n't  know  anything  about  my  brother,  and  do  n't  care 
what  he  says  or  thinks.  Let  me  see.  We  were  talk 
ing  about  circumstantial  evidence.  Is  that  all  the  evi 
dence  they  have  against  Mr.  Manning?" 

Katie  gave  an  involuntary  start  when  Bessie  uttered 
the  words,  "My  brother."  But  she  kept  quiet,  hoping 
this  conversation  might  lead  to  more  certain  revela 
tions.  Bessie  might  have  half  a  dozen  brothers,  for  all 
she  knew.  At  any  rate,  Manning  's  real  name  was  not 
Lowell,  unless  he  had  shamefully  deceived  her.  She 
did  not  answer  Bessie's  question  until  it  had  been  re 
peated.  Then  she  said : 

"No,  that  is  not  all.  The  worst  is  yet  to  come. 
Father  was  not  k3iled  by  a  robber ;  for  he  had  a  watch 
and  chain  and  five  hundred  dollars  in  money  on  his 
person,  and  these  were -not  touched.  He  was  killed 
with  a  blunt  instrument.  In  the  road  where  he  was 
struck  down,  Mr.  Manning's  cane  was  found.  Along 
the  track  where  he  was  dragged  into  the  swamp,  Mr. 
Manning's  handkerchief  was  found.  By  father  's  body 
were  found  some  legal  documents  in  Mr.  Manning's 


512  A    SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

handwriting.  Besides  these,  there  are  some  other 
circumstances  ;  but  I  do  not  remember  them  exactly, 
and  have  already  told  you  the  worst." 

And  now  Bessie  was  pale  indeed.  She  had  never 
heard  of  these  criminating  circumstances  before.  It 
did  not  require  the  acuteness  of  a  lawyer  to  see  that 
they  were  dangerous  in  the  extreme.  For  a  moment 
her  heart  ceased  to  beat  and  a  dead  fear  seized  her. 
This  fear  was  manifested  in  her  pallor  of  cheek  and 
unsteadiness  of  limb.  "Can  it  be  possible,"  she 
thought,  "can  it  be  possible  that  he  is  guilty  of  this 
terrible  crime  ?  My  sweet,  tender-hearted  brother 
guilty  of  murder?  O  no !  no !  it  can  not  be!  I  know 
he  can  prove  himself  innocent,  and  yet  these  circum 
stances,  if  true,  are  very  dark  against  him.  I  am  so 
glad  I  wrote  that  letter;  yes,  yes,  I  am  so  glad!" 

Bessie  rallied  again,  and  endeavored  to  assume  an 
air  of  indifference,  as  she  made  another  inquiry : 

"Is  there  much  excitement  over  the  murder  at 
Wellington  now?  I  suppose  not,  after  the  lapse  of 
two  years.  But  I  want  to  know — I  mean,  would  there 
be  much  excitement  if  he  should  be  found  and  taken 
back  there  for  trial  ?  Of  course  he  won  't  be  found. 
More  than  likely  he 's  in  Europe,  or  Mexico,  or  he 
may  be  dead,  for  that  matter.  I  'm  sure  he  would 
never  come  east,  for  he  would  be  in  constant  danger 
of  being  run  down  by  detectives  in  any  of  the  eastern 
States.  But  if  anything  should  happen,  and  he  should 
be  arrested,  would  he  get  a  fair  trial  ?  You  know 
the  papers  say  he  would  have  been  mobbed  if  he  had 
been  caught  soon  after  the  murder." 

"I  hardly  know  how  to  answer  your  question, 
Miss  Lowell.  Mr.  Manning  has  some  deadly  enemies 
at  Wellington  and  in  other  parts  of  the  county. 
The  safest  thing  for  him  to  do  is  to  keep  away  and 
keep  under  cover.  If  he  is  in  Europe  or  Mexico,  let 
his  friends  advise  him  to  preserve  his 'incognito  and  stay 
there.  If  he  is  in  the  State  of  New  York,  let  him  shun 
strangers,  for  they  might  be  detectives." 


KATIE    AT    CHAUTAUQUA.  513 

Katie  uttered  these  words  slowly,  distinctly  and 
emphatically,  looking  Bessie  full  in  the  eyes  as  she 
spoke.  The  words  seemed  to  be  uttered  as  an  earnest 
warning ;  and  yet  they  might  be  intended  as  a  threat. 
"Does  she  know  that  I  am  related  to  William  Hunt- 
ington?"  queried  Bessie  of  herself.  "Does  she  know 
that  I  know  where  he  is?  If  so,  by  what  process  of 
witchcraft  has  she  found  out  the  facts  ?  Ah,  my  poor 
brother!  can  it  be  that  you  are  doomed  at  last?"  Her 
limbs  refused  to  sustain  her,  and  she  sank  down  upon 
the  log  from  which  she  had  arisen  a  few  minutes  before. 
She  strove  to  master  her  feelings.  She  succeeded  in 
part,  and  then  said : 

"It  was  your  father  who  was  murdered,  and  of 
course  you  would  like  to  see  the  murderer  pun 
ished?" 

"Yes." 

"I  can  't  blame  you  for  that.  I  would  feel  as  you 
do  if  I  were  in  your  place." 

"  You  ought  to  feel  so,  whether  in  my  place  or  your 
own." 

"You  believe  William  Manning  is  the  murderer?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  '11  have  to  give  a  qualified  answer 
to  that  question.  The  evidence  is  overwhelmingly 
against  him.  When  I  think  of  the  evidence,  I  believe 
him  to  be  guilty.  But  I  knew  him  for  more  than  a  year 
before  father's  death ;  and  when  I  think  how  noble  he 
was,  how  unselfish,  how  kind  and  true — "  Katie  could 
say  no  more  for  a  moment.  Her  eyes  were  filled  with 
tears,  and  she  turned  them  away  from  her  companion's 
face  to  the  distant  south.  A  strange  sympathy  for  a 
moment  bound  the  two  girls  heart  to  heart.  With  the 
impulsiveness  of  her  nature,  Bessie  threw  her  arms 
around  Katie's  neck  and  kissed  her  forehead. 

"When  you  think  how  kind  and  true  he  was,  what 
then?"  she  asked  in  a  whisper.  Katie  found  her  voice 
again  and  answered: 

"Then  I  can  't  believe  it  possible  that  he  is  guilty. 
His  very  enemies  are  those  who  trample  upon  the  law 


514  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

he  tried  to  uphold.  Before  father  was  murdered,  no 
young  man  stood  higher  among  law-abiding  people  of 
the  county  than  Mr.  Manning.  So  I  have  to  answer 
your  question  by  saying  I  do  n't  know  whether  I  believe 
him  guilty  or  not." 

' '  But  if  you  knew  where  he  was,  you  would  inform 
the  authorities,  wouldn't  you?"  asked  Bessie. 

Katie  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  said  softly : 
"No." 

"Why  not? "asked  Bessie,  her  voice  trembling 
with  emotion. 

And  now  it  was  Katie's  turn  to  blush  and  hesitate. 
What  reason  could  she  assign  to  this  girl  for  not  de 
livering  the  supposed  murderer  of  her  father  to  the 
authorities,  that  he  might  be  tried  for  his  crime  ?  If  he 
was  innocent,  he  would  be  in  no  danger,  he  would  cer 
tainly  be  acquitted.  If  he  was  guilty,  he  ought  to  be 
punished  without  mercy.  While  Katie  was  considering 
what  answer  to  give  to  Bessie's  abrupt  "Why  not?" 
the  latter  settled  the  matter  in  her  own  mind  after  the 
following  manner : 

"All  the  girls  fall  in  love  with  brother.  How  can 
they  help  it.?  And  I  expect  Miss  Katie  Anderson  is 
like  the  rest  of  them,  and  has  some  tender  feeling  for 
him,  and  would  hate  to  see  him  hanged.  She  can  't 
be  playing  the  detective ;  for  she  doesn't  know  that  I 
ever  heard  of  the  young  man  till  to-day." 

Her  last  question  remaining  unanswered,  Bessie 
asked  another. 

"Do  you  really  think  Mr.  Manning  was  noble  and 
unselfish  ?  " 

"Oyes." 

"And  that  he  was  kind  and  true?" 

"  Yes,  yes." 

"  And  you  would  n't  want  to  see  him  hanged  ?" 

"  O  no !  no !  "  This  with  a  shudder. 

"  Then,  Katie,  you  must  have  been  in  love  with  him." 

"Why  should  I  have  been  in  love  with  Mr.  Man 
ning?" 


KATIE    AT    CHAUTAUQUA.  515 

She  spoke  with  unconcealed  agitation. 

"Why  shouldn't  you,  if  he  was  as  you  describe 
him?  Why  should  n't  you  ?" 

"Perhaps  he  was  my  father's  murderer." 

They  arose  as  if  by  common  consent,  and  walked 
slowly  back  towards  the  the  boarding-house.  The  glow 
had  faded  away  from  the  western  sky,  the  wind  had 
ceased,  and  the  rippling  wavelets  had  sunk  to  sleep. 
The  clack  of  the  mallet  upon  the  ball,  and  the  laughter 
of  the  croquet-players  were  borne  to  their  ears  no  more. 
Like  spectral  figures  the  two  girls,  absorbed  in  thought, 
moved  softly  along  through  the  dusk.  At  last  Bessie 
broke  the  silence : 

' '  Now,  like  a  good  girl,  you  have  told  me  all  about 
yourself,  and  so  I  ought  to  keep  my  part  of  the  bar 
gain.  But  it 's  too  late  to  do  so  to-night",  and  I  '11 
defer  my  thrilling  story  till  some  other  time.  This 
much  I  '11  divulge  now.  I  'm  older  than  you — almost  an 
old  maid — was  twenty-two  last  month.  I  have  lived  all 
my  life  at  Jamestown.  Father  and  mother  are  both 
living,  and  they  spend  part  of.  their  precious  time  in 
spoiling  me.  Now,  is  there  anything  else  you  would 
like  to  know  at  present?  I  mean  anything  pressing?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Katie,  grateful  for  the  turn  their 
conversation  had  taken.  Then  she  added  quickly : 
' '  Unless  it  is  how  many  brothers  you  have,  and  what 
their  names  are  ?  You  know  girls  are  always  interested 
in  each  other's  brothers." 

"I  have  no  brother,  but  I  have  one  half-brother, 
and  his  name  is  n't  Lowell  at  all.  Now  it  is  getting 
late,  and  we  must  quicken  our  pace.  Mrs.  Merriam  will 
have  the  whole  Assembly  out  dragging  the  lake  for  us 
if  we  tarry  much  longer." 

Katie  asked  no  more  questions.  She -was  satisfied 
at  present  with  the  answers  she  had  already  received. 
Bessie's  words  had  been  a  revelation.  The  name  of  her 
half-brother  had  been  withheld ;  but  enough  had  been 
said  to  revive  Katie's  heart  with  the  inspiration  of  a 
new-born  hope. 


516  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

On  the  third  day  after  the  conversation,  Katie  went 
to  the  post-office,  with  some  of  the  other  girls,  to  inquire 
for  her  mail.     She  was  not  expecting  a  letter  ;  and  yet 
she  grew  very  impatient  while  the  postmaster  fumbled 
the  letters,  beginning  with  "A,"  critically  and  deliber 
ately  reading  superscription  after  superscription.     Pres 
ently  he  paused,    eyed    the    address    on    one    of    the 
letters,  sighted  at  it  from  each  direction,  balanced  it  on 
his  hand  to  see  that  Uncle  Sam  was  not  being  defrauded 
of  his  revenue,  and  then  laid  it  down  on  a  table  near 
by.    Then  he  went  on.     Presently  he  paused  again  and 
deposited  a  second  letter  with  the  first.      And  the  very 
last   letter  of  the  handful   went  with  the  other  two. 
Three  letters !    Some  of  the  girls  who  were  turned  away 
empty-handed  grew  as  solemn  and  still  as  a  churchyard. 
Bessie  Lowell  asserted  that  it  made  her  feel  exceed 
ingly  small  to  see  Smith  in  front  of  her  and  Jones  be 
hind  her  clutching  a  handful  of  letters,  while  she  her 
self  was  turned  away  without  even  a  dun !     She  felt  as 
if  she  was  not  making  much  of  a  stir  in  the  world  ! 

Katie  thrust  her  three  letters  into  her  pocket,  and 
kept  them  there  till  she  found  herself  alone  in  her  room. 
The  reason  for  this  unwonted  procedure  was  the  hand 
writing  of  the  address  on  one  of  the  envelopes. 

Letter  number  one  was  from  mother — a  long,  tender 
epistle,  full  of  gentle  admonition  and  kind  advice, 
spiced  with  a  brief  record  of  the  doings  at  home  since 
Katie's  departure. 

Letter  number  two  was  from  Mrs.  Jennie  Spence, 
and  was  very  short  and  evidently  to  the  point ;  for 
Katie  gave  a  little  scream  of  delight,  and  ran  into  the 
room  where  Mabel  and  Ettie  were,  and  threw  the  letter 
at  them,  with  the  triumphant  exclamation:  "It's  a 
boy!"  Then  she  fled  back  to  her  room,  pursued  by 
such  incoherent  ejaculations  as  "  Oh,  my!"  "Well,  I 
declare!"  "Who'd  have  thought  it!"  and  "Isn't 
that  nice!" 

Letter  number  three  bore  the  post-mark,  "James 
town,  N.  Y."  The  address  was  in  the  plain,  bold 


KATIE   AT   CHAUTAUQUA. 

handwriting  of  a  certain  gentleman  whom  Katie  used 
to  know  at  Wellington  some  two  or  three  years  before. 
She  tore  the  envelope  into  pieces  in  her  haste  to  open 
it,  and  having  possessed  herself  of  the  missive  within, 
read  as  follows : 

"  Miss  ANDERSON  : — I  have  learned,  through  a  letter  just  received 
from  my  sister,  Miss  Bessie  Lowell,  that  you  are  at  Chautauqua,  board 
ing  at  Mrs.  Merriam's.  Before  sister  left  home  I  promised  to  run  over 
to  the  Assembly  for  two  or  three  days  as  soon  as  I  could  leave  my  busi 
ness.  When  sister  met  the  Wellington  girls  she  became  greatly  alarmed 
lest  I  should  keep  my  promise  and  stumble  into  danger.  So  she  wrote 
to  me,  explaining  the  situation,  and  urging  me  to  stay  away  from 
Chautauqua. 

"  But  I  do  not  share  sister's  apprehension.  I  am  not  afraid  to  be 
taken  back  to  Wellington.  In  fact,  I  am  about  ready  to  return  of  my 
own  motion.  I  am  not  guilty  of  the  murder  of  your  father,  and  now 
thank  God  that,  after  two  years  of  waiting  and  irresolution,  I  am  in  a 
position  to  face  the  false  accusation  against  me  with  overwhelming  proofs 
of  my  innocence. 

"  But  I  am  not  writing  this  letter  for  the  purpose  of  discussing  the 
dreadful  crime.  I  write  to  beg  the  favor  of  a  short  interview  with  you. 
In  order  that  you  may  consider  my  request  as  favorably  as  possible,  I 
again  assert  that  I  am  guiltless  of  your  father's  blood,  and  ask  you  to  take 
my  word  for  the  fact  till  I  have  time  to  demonstrate  the  truth  of  what  I  say. 

"  I  am  going  to  Chautauqua  on  Saturday.  I  must  see  you.  I 
want  to  avoid  my  sister  and  your  Wellington  friends,  if  possible.  So  my 
sister's  lover  has  entered  into  a  conspiracy  with  me.  He  will  go  with 
me,  and  take  her  and  the  other  girls  out  boating.  After  they  are  gone  I 
will  see  you  at  Mrs.  Merriam's,  provided  you  will  do  me  the  favor  to 
meet  me  there. 

"  Your  last  letter  and  the  grave  charge  against  me  forbid  the  use  of 
any  words  of  endearment  in  this  letter.  Yet  I  can  not  retrain  from  stat 
ing  that  my  heart  remains  unchanged.  It  has  known  but  one  love,  and 
is  still  loyal  to  that  love.  If  I  can  prove  that  I  am  innocent  of  the 
murder  of  your  father,  and  satisfactorily  explain  that  mystery  in  my  life 
which  brought  about  our  estrangement,  may  I  not  hope  to  enjoy  again 
your  confidence  and  love?  Ever  yours, 

"WILLIAM  HUNTING-TON." 

Katie  read  the  letter  over  several  times,  and  weighed 
its  words  as  carefully  as  she  could.  She  did  not  deny 
to  herself  that  the  hope  of  meeting  William  Manning, 
in  some  undreamed-of  way,  had  prompted  her  to  come 
to  Chautauqua.  It  was  evident  to  her  now  that  all  her 
suspicions  of  his  infidelity  were  unfounded.  Bessie 
Lowell  was  his  sister,  and  nothing  more.  Were  it  not 
for  the  criminal  charge  against  him,  she  would  meet 


A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

him  as  he  requested,  oh,  so  gladly !  and  answer  the  last 
question  of  his  letter  with  one  glad,  happy  "Yes." 
But  how  could  she  hold  an  interview  with  one  who 
stood  indicted  for  murder,  and  the  murder,  too,  of  her 
own  father?  But  then  he  is  not  guilty,  her  heart 
pleaded  as  an  excuse ;  he  is  not  guilty ;  he  says  he  is 
not,  and  I  believe  what  he  says,  every  word  of  it.  "I 
am  to  blame  for  all  this !  "  she  sobbed.  "  If  I  had  not 
judged  too  hastily  from  appearances,  and  without  hear 
ing  his  explanation,  he  would  have  staid  at  Wellington, 
and  this  accusation  would  never  have  been  made.  Yes, 
I  am  to  blame !  And  shall  I  now  refuse  to  see  him  ? 
What  ought  I  to  do  ?  What  ought  I  to  do  ?  " 

It  was  now  Wednesday,  and  but  three  days 
remained  in  which  to  make  her  decision.  Oh,  could 
she  but  look  into  the  future,  and  read  her  duty  in  the 
light  of  what  was  to  follow !  On  that  Wednesday  she 
came  to  many  a  decision ;  but  as  often  as  she  decided 
upon  one  course,  she  reconsidered  the  matter,  reversed 
her  decision,  and  decided  upon  the  opposite  course. 
At  one  moment  she  thought  there  could  be  no  harm 
in  seeing  Mr.  Manning  once  more,  and  hearing  what 
he  had  to  say  in  explanation  of  the  grave  charge 
against  him.  It  would  be  no  more  than  just  to  give 
him  a  hearing.  His  explanation  might  be  satisfactory, 
and  prepare  the  way  for  reconciliation  and  happiness. 
She  should  not  act  like  a  frenzied  mob,  and  condemn 
her  lover  without  giving  him  a  chance  to  defend  him 
self.  And  yet  she  admitted  that  this  would  be  a 
dangerous  experiment.  Mr.  Manning  had  assured  her 
that  his  heart  was  unchanged.  He  would  certainly 
renew  his  declarations  of  love.  Could  she  resist  his 
entreaties  ?  Could  she  resist  the  pleadings  of  her  own 
love  and  the  promptings  of  her  own  heart?  She  dared 
not  answer  these  questions  even  to  herself.  For  she 
was  not  prepared,  in  strict  truthfulness,  to  answer  yes, 
and  she  was  unwilling  to  indicate  tke  path  of  duty  by 
answering  no.  Two  years  had  passed  since  she  had 
seen  her  lover  or  heard  his  tender,  passionate  words. 


kATIE    AT   CHAUTAUQUA. 

She  knew  her  heart  would  beat  passionately  at  his 
approach ;  that  her  hands  would  tremble  and  her 
cheeks  grow  pale  at  the  sound  of  his  voice.  Thus  torn 
by  conflicting  emotions,  she  was  as  far  from  a  determi 
nation  what  to  do,  at  the  close  of  the  day,  as  she  had 
been  when  first  she  read  her  lover's  letter. 

Bessie  came  to  her  where  she  was  standing  at  sun 
set,  under  a  wide-branching  apple  tree,  whose  limbs 
were  weighted  down  with  a  burden  of  ripening  apples, 
and  lifting  one  of  the  pendent  boughs,  drew  near  the 
unhappy  girl  and  said:  "I've  come  to  reveal  a  secret 
which  I  can  no  longer  keep  by  myself.  I  make  you 
my  confidante,  and  want  you  to  share  my  secret  with 
me."  Then  she  unfolded  her  important  story.  Her 
brother  had  a  very  dear  friend  named  Paul  Hartman. 
The  two  had  been  companions  at  Jamestown.  Mr. 
Hartman  was  a  lawyer,  and,  though  only  thirty-five 
years  of  age,  was  considered  one  of  the  leading  lawyers 
of  the  State,  eminent  for  learning  and  eloquence.  He 
had  outgrown  Jamestown  and  moved  to  Buffalo,  where 
he  now  had  a  large  practice.  There  were  certain  well 
defined  and  tender  relations  existing  between  herself 
and  this  great  man.  She  had  this  day  received  a  letter 
from  him,  stating  that  he  was  coming  to  see  her  on 
Saturday. 

Katie  listened  to  all  these  details  patiently,  but  was 
thinking  of  something  more  important  to  herself  all 
the  time.  This,  then,  was  the  lover  of  whom  Mr.  Man 
ning  had  written  in  his  letter.  "I  should  think  you 
would  stand  in  awe  of  such  a  great  man,"  suggested 
Katie,  feeling  that  she  must  say  something.  "  How 
dare  you  look  upon  him  in  the  commonplace  light  of  a 
lover?  " 

Bessie  laughed,  and  said  that  Mr.  Hartman  had 
never  been  able  to  inspire  awe  in  her,  and  that  she  was 
not  afraid  of  him  at  all.  "  Why,  I  've  known  him  ever 
since  I  can  remember.  He  used  to  hold  me  on  his 
knee  when  I  was  a  little  girl,  and  swing  me,  and  pet 
me ;  and  then  when  I  grew  too  old  for  such  attentions 


$26  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

he  presented  himself  in  the  more  serious  attitude  of  a 
lover.  I  'm  sure  he  doesn't  seem  so  great,  just  to  look 
at  him.  In  fact,  I  do  n't  think  he 's  great  at  all.  But 
other  folks  say  he  is,  and  I  accept  their  judgment  in 
the  matter,  and  try  to  realize  what  a  fortunate  creature 
I  am  to  be  the  object  of  his  admiration.  It  is  settled 
that  we  are  going  to  be  married  ;  and  that  is  the  secret 
I  want  you  to  help  me  to  keep.  You  must  come  to 
my  wedding  and  be  a  sister  to  me,  for  I  'm  destitute  of 
sisters,  and  a  girl  in  love  needs  sympathy  when  her 
wedding-day  is  approaching.  And  then  you  will  get 
to  see  that  dear  brother  of  mine ;  you  may  fall  in  love 
with  each  other,  and  I  may  have  an  artless,  guileless 
daughter  of  the  prairie  for  a  sister,  after  all.  O  dear ! 
that  would  be  grand  !  " 

Katie  professed  great  interest  in  Bessie's  lover, 
and  said  she  would  be  delighted  to  meet  such  a  re 
markable  man.  Then  after  some  further  conversation 
the  two  separated,  Bessie  in  the  sweet  expectation  that 
she  would  see  her  lover  on  Saturday,  and  Katie  in 
serious  doubt  as  to  whether  she  would  or  would  not, 
should  or  should  not,  see  her  former  lover  on  the 
same  day. 

On  the  following  morning  all  her  doubts  and  per 
plexities  were  solved  for  her  by  a  telegram  from  her 
mother,  stating  that  her  brother  James  had  been 
thrown  from  a  horse,  and  was  suffering  from  painful  in 
juries  as  the  consequence  of  his  fall.  The  message 
bade  her  come  home  at  once. 

What  a  rebellious  feeling  almost  choked  her  as  she 
read  this  telegram  !  She  had  not  intended  to  meet 
William  Manning.  Oh,  no !  That  being  true,  she 
should  have  welcomed  this  telegram  as  furnishing  a 
clear  way  out  of  her  quandary.  She  could  not  be  cen 
sured  even  by  her  lover  for  going  home  without  seeing 
him.  She  was  without  choice  in  the  matter.  The  choice 
between  two  courses  of  action  which  she  had  been 
vainly  endeavoring  to  make  had  been  made  for  her  by 
the  nervous  activity  of  an  equine  brute  at  Wellington. 


KATIE    At    CHAUTAUQIJA.  $21 

Her  first  thought  should  have  been  for  her  suffering 
brother  ;  whereas,  her  first  thought,  in  fact,  was  for 
her  suffering  lover  and  her  own  suffering  self.  She  be 
held  herself  surrounded  by  the  debris  of  ruined  cas 
tles.  She  had  had  castles  then  ?  Yes,  many  fine  ones, 
without  doubt.  She  loved  William  Manning  devoted 
ly,  and  she  had  builded  many  a  castle  in  which  he  was 
to  be  king  and  she  was  to  be  queen.  The  moment  had 
almost  come  when  the  lover  of  former  years  was  to 
meet  her — when  reconciliation  was  possibly  to  be  ef 
fected — when  his  innocence  of  crime  was  to  be  proved 
by  his  own  lips — when  she  was  to  find  peace  and  hap 
piness  iii  his  arms  once  more  ! 

Then  she  thought  of  her  brother,  and  reproached 
herself  because  of  her  murmuring.  Stern  duty  con 
fronted  her.  There  was  no  alternative  but  to  obey  her 
mother's  request.  She  packed  her  trunk,  showed  the 
telegram  to  her  companions  and  to  the  landlady,  and 
reluctantly  took  her  departure  for  her  home  in  Illinois. 
Is  it  strange  that  her  eyes  ever  and  anon  filled  with 
tears,  and  that  she  had  to  clasp  her-  hands  together 
tightly  that,  by  the  physical  effort,  she  might  keep  the 
tears  from  flowing  ?  If  Bessie  had  seen  her,  she  would 
have  thought :  ' '  What  a  dear  girl !  How  much  she 
loves  her  brother."  Only  God  and  Katie  knew  why 
her  heart  was  aching  so. 

She  wrote  no  letter  to  William  Manning.  Now  that 
she  could  not  see  him,  it  were  best  not  to  commit  her 
self  by  any  unguarded  expressions.  In  the  keenness 
of  her  disappointment  she  might  write  more  than  she 
intended.  Mr.  Manning  would  learn,  on  Saturday, 
the  reason  for  her  abrupt  departure.  And  so,  on  Sat 
urday  morning,  Katie  crossed  the  threshold  of  her 
home  once  more,  just  as  Mrs.  Merriam  was  informing 
Mr.  Manning  that  Miss  Anderson  had  been  summoned 
home  by  an  accident  to  her  brother. 

William  Manning  stood  for  a  moment  as  if  dazed. 
He  struck  a  pebble  lying  by  the  walk  with  his  cane,  and 
sent  it  flying  into  the  road.  Next  he  whipped  off  the 


522  A    SUBTLE   ADVERSARY'. 

top  of  a  choice  dahlia,  and  then  apologized,  and  of 
fered  to  pay  the  damage.  He  then  bade  the  landlady 
good-day,  and  walked  slowly  away  with  a  resolute  pur 
pose  on  his  face. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

AT    MOSSY    BANK    AGAIN. 

Several  weeks  afterwards,  and  near  the  latter  part 
of  the  following-  September,  Katie  went  to  the  woods 
to  gather  Autumn  leaves  on  her  own  ten  acres  of 
timber-land.  She  found  Mossy  Bank  untenanted  save 
by  a  very  few  of  her  favorite  birds,  and  proceeded  to 
gather  some  of  the  choicest  leaves  to  be  found  there. 
Having  selected  a  bountiful  store,  some  red,  some  yel 
low,  some  golden,  she  put  them  carefully  away  in  her 
basket,  and  sat  down  to  rest  for  a  few  minutes  under 
the  very  tree,  almost  at  the  very  spot,  where  she  was 
engaged  in  tearing  flowers  into  pieces  when  William 
Manning  had  first  met  her  at  Mossy  Bank.  The  glory 
of  God  's  handiwork  was  before  her  eye,  the  song  of 
his  creatures  was  in  her  ear,  and  the  breeze  from 
afar,  bearing  the  sweets  of  the  wooded  hills  in  every 
breath,  was  soft  as  a  kiss  upon  her  cheek.  Here  she 
found  happiness  on  this  particular  afternoon — not  un 
mixed  happiness,  it  may  be,  but  happiness  tempered 
and  chastened  by  the  sadness  of  her  memories,  as 
nature  had  been  chastened  and  subdued  by  the  soft,  sad 
touches  of  the  frost. 

Ever  and  anon  a  handful  of  leaves,  loosened  from 
their  homes  by  some  mischievous  zephyr,  fell  patter 
ing  to  the  ground.  An  uncommonly  large  and  brilliant 
one  was  borne,  by  a  puff  of  wind,  to  Katie's  feet.  She 
arose,  picked  it  up  tenderly,  and  stood  there  for  a 
moment,  admiring  its  dying  glory.  Then  she  became 
conscious  that  some  intruder  was  approaching,  and 
hastily  looked  up.  With  a  little  cry  of  surprise,  she 
dropped  her  velvety  leaf,  and  stood  trembling  before 
the  apparition.  Could  it  be  possible  ?  She  passed  her 
hands  over  her  eyes  to  assure  herself  of  the  reality  of 
the  situation  and  the  integrity  of  her  vision,  and  looked 


$24  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

again.  There,  not  a  dozen  steps  from  her,  and  advanc 
ing  gently  and  timidly  towards  her,  was  William  Hunt- 
ington,  whom  she  had  known  at  Wellington  as  William 
Manning,  and  who  was  supposed  by  her  to  be  at  this 
instant  in  Jamestown  in  the  State  of  New  York. 

The  excitement  was  too  great  for  Katie,  and  she 
sank  down  upon  the  ground,  while  her  former  lover 
came  forward  and  sat  down  by  her,  there  in  that 
romantic  spot,  hallowed  to  both  of  them  by  sacred 
associations  and  precious  memories. 

William  Huntington's  eyes  rested  lovingly  on  Katie 
as  she  sat  there  almost  unnerved  before  him.  She  had 
changed  since  he  had  seen  her,  but  not  for  the  worse. 
She  was  as  fair  and  her  hair  as  glossy  as  of  old.  Not  a 
trace  of  loveliness  had  been  lost.  Indeed  she  had  grown 
lovelier  day  by  day  as  a  womanly  grace  and  dignity  had 
gradually  taken  the  place  of  the  immaturity  of  girl 
hood.  As  Huntington  looked  earnestly  into  the  sweet 
face  he  was  more  than  ever  in  love  with  her  on  this 
lazy,  hazy  afternoon,  made  for  lovers  and  their  whis 
pered  words  of  love. 

If  Katie  was  surprised  and  unnerved,  so  was  Hunt 
ington,  for  he  was  not  expecting  to  find  her  there.  He 
had  left  the  train  at  Moberly  that  he  might  enter  Wel 
lington  without  attracting  the  attention  of  the  rabble, 
and  secure  an  interview  with  Katie,  if  possible,  before 
he  should  be  arrested  and  lodged  in  jail.  -If  Provi 
dence  had  sometimes  frowned  upon  him,  the  Divine 
smiles  were  certainly  upon  him  to-day.  For  here  was 
Katie ;  and  she  certainly  could  not,  would  not  refuse 
to  hear  what  he  had  come  so  far  to  say. 

"Katie,  you  received  my  letter  at  Chautauqua?" 
he  ventured,  feeling  uncertain  how  to  address  her,  and 
fearing  that  the  use  of  the  familiar  name  might  be 
considered  by  her  as  an  unwarranted  liberty.  She  did 
not  seem  to  consider  it  so,  and  her  answer  emboldened 
him.  She  said : 

"  Yes,  I  received  your  letter,  and  the  very  next  day 
received  mother's  telegram,  telling  me  James  had  been 


AT    MOSSY    BANK    AGAIN.  525 

hurt,  and  asking  me  to  come  home.     I  suppose  Mrs. 
Merriam  explained  why  I  left  so  unexpectedly?" 

"  She  told  me  about  the  telegram  and  the  accident 
— yes.  But  she  gave  me  no  message  from  you,  no 
kind  word,  not  even  an  apology.  This  was  hard  to 
bear,  especially  when  I  had  set  my  heart  on  seeing 
you,  and  went  to  Chautauqua  feeling  sure  I  would  see 
you.  As  soon  as  I  heard  you  were  there  I  commenced 
making  plans  to  meet  you.  The  fact  that  you  were  so 
near  made  it  almost  impossible  for  me  to  act  patiently 
or  prudently.  Sister  wrote  that  two  of  the  Welling 
ton  girls  were  with  you,  and  warned  me  away  from  the 
Assembly  grounds.  She  was  afraid  some  of  you  would 
report  me  and  have  me  arrested  ;  and  the  truth  is  I  was 
not  ready  to  be  arrested  just  then.  So  I  tried  to  plan 
a  way  for  seeing  you  without  being  seen  by  them  or 
even  by  my  sister.  It  was  no  easy  undertaking. 
Even  if  I  should  succeed  in  eluding  the  girls,  I  had  no 
assurance  that  you  would  hold  any  conversation  with 
me.  It  was  even  possible  that  you  might  deliver  me 
over  to  the  authorities,  though  I  was  willing  to  take  my 
chances  as  to  that.  Just  at  that  time  who  should  open 
the  door  and  step  into  my  office  but  Paul  Hartman, 
an  old  friend  of  mine  who  used  to  live  at  Jamestown 
and  is  now  practicing  law  at  Buffalo  ?  He  and  I  have 
always  been  confidants — I  say  always,  but  I  mean  ever 
since  we  have  had  any  need  for  confidences.  Though 
he  is  several  years  older  than  I,  yet  we  have  been  like 
twins  in  our  companionship,  and  I  expect  to  have  him 
for  a  brother  one  of  these  days.  So  I  told  him  about 
you  and  about  the  forming  and  breaking  of  our  en 
gagement.  I  told  him  you  were  at  Chautauqua,  and 
that  I  must  see  you  in  some  way,  and  wanted  him  to 
help  me  devise  a  plan  for  doing  so.  He  said  he  would 
fix  matters  up  for  us;  he  was  going  to  see  Bessie  any 
way,  and  would  take  her  and  the  other  girls  out  boat 
ing,  and  then  I  could  get  a  chance  to  see  you  without 
their  seeing  me.  I  could  think  of  no  better  plan,  and 
I  wrote  to  you  accordingly.  I  thought  you  might 


526  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

answer  my  letter,  but  was  not  cast  down  because  you 
did  not.  But  when  Mrs.  Merriam  met  me  at  the  door 
and  told  me  you  had  gone,  I  felt  sick  and  faint.  I  sup 
pose  I  must  have  acted  very  strangely.  I  did  not  wait 
to  see  Bessie  even,  but  after  having  destroyed  some  of 
poor  Mrs.  Merriam's  nicest  flowers,  quietly  walked 
away.  There  was  some  consolation  in  the  thought 
that  you  had  been  called  home  by  an  accident,  that 
you  had  not  fled  from  me ;  but  there  was  little  en 
couragement  in  the  fact  that  you  had  not  left  a  single 
word  of  explanation  for  me." 

Katie  sat  there,  with  downcast  eyes,  listening  to 
these  words,  feeling  that  it  was  her  duty  to  go,  but 
finding  herself  utterly  unable  to  do  so.  She  made  no 
attempt  at  interruption.  The  last  words  were  spoken 
with  such  hopeless  pathos  that  she  felt  impelled  to  say 
something  ;  and  so,  not  weighing  her  words,  and  hardly 
realizing  what  she  said,  she  told  him  that  she  had 
hardly  had  time  to  write,  even  if  she  could,  with  pro 
priety,  have  answered  his  letter.  Huntington  made 
no  direct  reply  to  this  statement.  He  sat  for  a  moment 
in  silence,  and  then  said : 

"  But  I  was  not  wholly  discouraged  yet.  I  rallied 
to  some  extent  even  as  I  left  Mrs.  Merriam's  door.  I 
left  there  with  a  fixed  intention  of  coming  to  Welling 
ton  and  seeking  an  interview  with  you  at  your  home. 
In  pursuance  of  that  intention  I  am  here.  I  am  here 
to  beg  your  love  and  confidence  once  more.  I  've  no 
doubt  you  thought  you  had  good  reasons  for  severing 
our  engagement,  but  I  think  you  ought  to  be  frank 
enough  to  tell  me  what  they  were,  and  true  enough  to 
hear  my  explanation." 

These  words  acted  as  a  tonic  upon  Katie,  and  she 
looked  steadfastly  at  her  suitor  while  she  said  : 

"  Even  if  I  had  no  sufficient  reason  for  my  action 
then,  I  found  a  sufficient  reason  soon  afterwards.  You 
will  not  deny  that  I  have  such  a  reason  now  ?  " 

William  Huntington  had  not  come  so  many  hun 
dreds  of  miles  to  quarrel  with  Katie,  but  to  explain 


AT   MOSSY    BANK    AGAIN.  527 

misunderstandings  and  unravel  mysteries  ;  and  besides, 
he  could  not  deny  that,  judging  from  appearances, 
Katie  had  very  good  reason,  as  one  who  had  loved  her 
father  and  now  cherished  his  memory,  not  only  to  de 
cline  to  recognize  him  in  any  sense  as  a  suitor,  but  even 
to  refuse  to  sit  there  and  hear  his  explanations.  He 
seemed  to  take  no  notice  of  Katie's  last  words,  and  she 
was  already  reproaching  herself  for  having  spoken 
them. 

"I  want  to  talk  about  that  saddest  of  events,  the 
murder  of  your  father,  after  a  while,"  he  said.  "  But 
first  I  want  to  set  matters  right  back  of  that.  You 
must  have  had  some  reason  for  breaking  off  our  en 
gagement  so  unceremoniously.  If  you  had  ceased  to 
love  me,  Katie,  and  that  was  the  reason,  then  this  in 
terview  ought  to  end  here  ;  if  that  was  the  reason,  you 
did  right.  I  would  n't  marry  you  unless  you  truly 
loved  me." 

He  paused  again.  She  made  no  answer.  She  had 
not  ceased  to  love  him — he  ought  to  know  that.  At 
any  rate  she  would  not  make  the  acknowledgment 
now ;  and  so  she  said  nothing. 

' '  Katie,  tell  me,  please,  what  was  the  matter  ? 
Why  did  you  write  that  cruel  letter?  " 

What  could  she  say  ?  She  was  ashamed  now,  in 
the  light  of  recent  revelations,  to  confess  the  truth. 
She  could  not  bring  herself  to  acknowledge  that  jeal 
ousy,  unfounded  jealousy,  as  she  now  knew,  was  the 
principal  cause  of  their  estrangement.  And  so  she 
remained  silent,  while  he  renewed  his  questions  and 
pressed  them  earnestly  and  tenderly.  At  length,  when 
silence  was  no  longer  tolerable,  she  answered  : 

' '  It  matters  very  little  what  the  reason  was.  I  will 
admit  this  much — I  found  out  afterward  that  what  had 
seemed  to  me  to  be  a  justifiable  reason  at  the  time  was 
no  reason  at  all.  I  can  't  see,  however,  that  any  good 
can  result  from  the  discussion  of  this  subject." 

"But,  Katie,"  persisted  Huntington,  "we  can't 
have  a  full  and  complete  reconciliation  without  a  full 


528  A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

and  complete  explanation.  I  'm  not  going  to  try  to 
take  advantage  of  you  in  any  way,  but  only  to  talk 
calmly,  and,  I  trust,  sensibly.  Unless  I  can  remove 
all  the  stumbling-blocks,  I  dare  not  insist  on  any  more 
tender  relation  than  friendship.  I  can  't  remove  these 
stumbling-blocks  unless  I  know  what  and  where  they 
are.  I  think  one  of  them  was  your  father's  opposition 
to  our  engagement.  I  would  speak  of  him  in  all  kind 
ness  and  tenderness  for  many  reasons.  He  was 
opposed  to  me  because  he  did  n't  know  me,  and  was 
misled  and  misinformed  by  my  enemies.  Yet  I  can 
hardly  think  that  you  broke  off  our  engagement  solely 
on  his  account. " 

"No,"  said  Katie,  "there  was  something  more 
than  that ;  and  because  of  that  something,  and  also  to 
please  father,  I  wrote  you  the  letter  you  speak  of." 

' '  I  say  again,  Katie,  that  your  father  was  mistaken 
— he  misjudged  me.  He  knows  better  now ;  and  if  he 
could  speak  from  the  skies  at  this  moment,  he  would 
tell  you  so,  and  withdraw  all  opposition  to  our  mar 
riage.  Sawtheaire  is  responsible  for  your  father's  dis 
like  for  me.  He  poisoned  his  mind  against  me  in  some 
way ;  I  do  n't  know  how,  and  never  expect  to  know. 
But  I  do  believe  it  was  his  work.  He  had  two  objects 
in  view.-  He  hated  me,  and  wanted  your  father's  influ 
ence  against  me  and  in  his  favor,  and  then  he  sought  to 
win  you  for  himself." 

"That  he  could  never  do!"  said  Katie,  emphati 
cally. 

"I  know  it;  and  so  does  he  now.  But  he  didn't 
know  it  then,  and  had  the  audacity  to  attempt  anything. 
But  come,  Katie,  please  tell  me  what  that  something 
was  which  caused  you  to  write  your  cruel  letter — please 
tell  me." 

He  pleaded  in  vain.  Nothing  disconcerted,  how 
ever,  he  went  on : 

"While  I  don't  know  positively  what  the  trouble 
was,  I  have  my  theory  on  the  subject.  If  you  will  not 
tell  me,  I  '11  have  to  make  a  guess — that  is  all.  So  I  'm 


AT  MOSSY  BANK  AGAIN.  529 

going  to  ask  you  to  listen  while  I  tell  you  something 
about  my  life  before  I  went  to  Wellington.  I  do  n't  do 
this  to  be  talking  about  myself,  but  because  I  think  I 
may  remove  some  of  the  stumbling-blocks  in  that  way." 

Katie  said  she  would  hear  anything  he  desired  to 
tell  her.  The  fact  is  that  she  was  really  eager  to  hear 
the  particulars  of  the  mystery  enveloping  the  early  life 
of  William  Huntington.  She  listened  intently  as  he 
continued: 

' '  My  father  died  when  I  was  about  three  years  old, 
and  left  my  mother,  brother  and  myself  in  a  helpless 
and  destitute  condition.  My  brother  David  was  two 
years  older  than  I,  and  was  a  weak  and  nervous  child. 
Mother  did  not  expect  him  to  live  till  his  majority,  as 
she  often  told  me ;  but  he  lived  through  the  diseases 
of  childhood,  and  grew  to  be  a  weak  and  nervous  man. 
On  account  of  his  affliction,  mother  loved  him  more, 
if  possible,  than  she  did  me,  and  indulged  him  to 
the  utmost  of  her  ability. 

"I  am  not  sure  that  I  have  any  recollection  of  my 
father.  It  seems  to  me  I  do  have.  Dim  and  shadowy 
pictures  of  him  come  and  go  in  my  mind ;  but  these 
may  arise  from  conversations  with  my  mother,  and 
what  I  have  learned  through  her,  rather  than  from  my 
own  independent  recollection  of  the  facts. 

"Mother  was  a  resolute  woman,  and  with  a  brave 
heart  set  to  work  to  earn  a  living  for  herself  and  her 
children.  She  had  no  relative  here  upon  whom  she 
could  rely  for  help.  She  was  a  native  of  County  An 
trim  in  Ireland,  and  had  come  to  America  when  a  young 
woman,  with  her  father,  who  died  within  a  few  months 
afterwards,  and  left  her  an  orphan  among  strangers  in  a 
strange  land.  So  after  her  husband's  death  she  had  to 
rely  on  herself  for  a  subsistence,  and  took  in  sewing 
and  did  such  other  work  as  she  could  find  to  do.  Thus 
she  struggled  along  till  two  or  three  years  after  father's 
death,  when  she  accepted  an  offer  of  marriage  from  her 
present  husband,  Dr.  Lowell,  then  a  promising  phys 
ician  thirty-four  or  thirty-five  years  of  age.  I  remem- 


53O  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

her  the  wedding  very  well.  I  was  then  nearly  six  years 
of  age.  Mother  has  told  me  hi  later  years  that  it  was  a 
very  quiet  affair — that  she  could  not  consent  to  any 
thing  else  in  becoming  a  wife  for  the  second  time.  But 
in  my  youthful  eyes  it  seemed  a  grand  affair.  I  did 
not  comprehend  fully  what  was  going  on,  but  the 
solemnity  of  the  ceremony  impressed  me  wonderfully, 
and  I  cried  as  if  some  great"  calamity  was  impending. 
We  changed  our  place  of  residence  and  manner  of  liv 
ing.  Dr.  Lowell  was  a  kind  and  indulgent  husband. 
He  was  like  a  father  to  David  and  me.  My  half-sister 
Bessie  has  ever  been  as  dear  to  me  as  if  Dr.  Lowell  was 
my  own  father,  and  I  have  for  him  the  highest  respect, 
amounting  almost  to  the  affection  of  a  son.  Mother's 
second  marriage  has  certainly  been  a  happy  one,  and 
she  loves  her  husband  dearly.  And  yet  she  is  not  for 
getful  of  the  past ;  for  I  have  stolen  upon  her  some 
times  when  she  thought  no  one  was  near,  and  found 
her  in  tears  with  my  father's  picture  in  her  hand  ;  and 
she  fails  not  to  keep  the  flowers  blooming  on  his 
grave  the  summer  through. 

"During  the  history  of  the  family  since  mother's 
last  marriage  there  has  been  but  one  sad  event,  and 
that  certainly  is  sad  enough,  and  explains  why  I  lived 
at  Wellington  under  the  assumed  name  of  Manning, 
and  my  reticence  there  about  my  previous  history  and 
former  home. 

"Dr.  Lowell  was  a  wealthy  man,  and  was  over- 
indulgent  with  us  children.  He  seemed,  like  mother,  to 
have  a  special  fondness  for  David  till  the  happening  of 
the  event  I  am  about  to  mention.  It  was  thought  that 
the  poor  lad's  life  would  be  brief,  and  that  he  should  be 
cared  for  the  more  tenderly  for  that  reason. 

"And  now,  Katie,  you  will  learn  why  I  am  such  an 
uncompromising  enemy  of  saloons.  What  crimes  the 
saloon-power  has  perpetrated,  both  directly  and  indi 
rectly — directly,  to  sustain  its  power,  and  indirectly 
through  its  maddened  victims!  What  misery  and 
poverty  it  has  caused  !  what  tears  !  what  broken  hearts  ! 


AT  MOSSY  BANK  AGAIN.  531 

My  poor,  weak  brother  did  not  pass  through  the  ordeal 
of  temptation  and  over-indulgence  unharmed.  He  fell 
to  drinking.  He  rallied,  and  then  fell  again.  At  first 
the  Doctor  pitied  him,  as  did  all  of  us,  and  cared  for 
him,  and  would  not  let  him  go.  It  is  needless  to  say 
that  mother  clung  to  him  all  the  closer  under  this  new 
affliction.  Many  a  day  I  followed  him  around  the  streets 
of  Jamestown  to  save  him  from  his  so-called  friends. 
Often  he  would  elude  me,  and  come  home  partly  in 
toxicated,  or  be  brought  home  helplessly  drunk.  Oc 
casionally  the  Doctor  seemed  to  lose  all  patience  with 
him,  and  threatened  to  turn  him  out  of  doors,  but 
mother,  with  her  pleading  and  tears,  invariably  prevailed, 
and  the  offense  was  condoned  with  a  word  of  warning 
for  the  future. 

"But  David's  constitution  could  not  long  stand  such 
a  strain.  It  was  manifest  that  a  few  years  would  close 
his  career  on  earth,  even  without  the  accelerating  influ 
ence  of  intoxicants.  The  seeds  of  disease  in  his  fragile 
frame  were  now  actively  developing,  and  no  power  on 
earth  could  save  him. 

"At  last  it  was  determined  that  David  should  be 
taken  abroad,  and  to  me  was  committed  the  task  of 
being  his  companion.  We  went  to  Cuba,  and  spent  the 
winter  there.  Brother's  health  improved  somewhat 
under  my  surveillance  and  the  mildness  of  the  climate. 
When  the  spring  was  well  advanced  we  sailed  for  New 
York.  On  board  the  vessel  David  became  acquainted 
with  some  very  good  looking  men,  polite  and  well- 
dressed,  but  who  turned  out  to  be  desperate  villains.  I 
soon  found  out  that  he  was  drinking  again,  but  was  unable 
to  discover  for  a  time  how  he  obtained  his  liquor.  One 
night  after  I  had  fallen  asleep,  as  I  afterwards  learned, 
he  left  our  room,  and  met  these  villains  in  their  room 
by  appointment,  taking  with  him  his  watch  and  chain, 
and  all  the  money  we  had  with  us.  They  plied  him 
with  liquor,  and  then  robbed  him  of  his  money,  and 
finally  of  his  watch  and  chain,  at  cards,  and  then  chal- 
longed  him  to  get  more  money,  or  my  watch,  if  he 


A    SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

could  do  no  better,  and  try  his  hand  again.  He  came 
to  my  room  in  a  semi-intoxicated  state  about  two  o'clock 
that  night,  possessed  himself  of  my  watch,  and  began 
fumbling  through  my  clothes  for  anything  that  might 
be  available  for  his  purpose.  I  was  aroused  by  the  noise, 
saw  the  outlines  of  a  man  bending  over  my  clothes,  and 
supposing  him  to  be  some  thieving  villain,  sprang  upon 
him.  At  that  instant  a  knife  penetrated  my  side,  cut 
ting  a  frightful  gash.  The  scar  is  there  now,  and  will 
accompany  me  to  the  grave.  Poor  David  ! — kind,  ten 
der  and  loving !  It  was  the  demon  Rum  that  prompted 
the  blow.  Do  you  wonder  that  after  such  an  experience 
I  hate  the  saloon  business,  and  have  no  toleration  for 
those  engaged  in  it  ?  " 

Huntington  paused  and  wiped  the  perspiration  from 
his  forehead.  After  a  few  minutes  he  resumed  his 
narrative. 

( '  I  fell  down  upon  the  floor  and  bled  profusely. 
The  cut  was  a  dangerous,  but  not  necessarily  a  fatal 
one.  David  must  have  fled  from  the  room  and  thrown 
the  knife  into  the  sea,  for  it  was  never  found.  In  seme 
strange  way  he  escaped  the  notice  of  the  night-watch. 
It  was  some  time  before  my  groaning  attracted  atten 
tion.  Then  a  surgeon  was  brought,  and  my  wound 
properly  cared  for.  David  was  arrested  on  suspicion, 
and  when  the  vessel  landed  at  New  York  he  was  deliv 
ered  over  to  the  authorities  and  lodged  in  jail.  The 
jurisdiction  of  the  case  was  in  the  federal  court.  I  was 
taken  to  a  hospital,  and  Dr.  Lowell  was  sent  for.  I 
begged  him  to  bail  my  brother  out  of  jail,  but  he  reso 
lutely  refused.  He  went  to  see  the  poor  boy,  but 
remained  unmoved  by  his  piteous  entreaties.  When  I 
was  able  to  travel  we  went  to  Jamestown,  and  left 
David  behind  us  in  imprisonment. 

"But  the  Doctor  could  not  resist  the  appeals  of  a 
heart-broken  mother.  He  sent  for  Paul  Hartman,  and  em 
ployed  him  to  defend  the  case.  The  two  went  to  New 
York  and  brought  David  home — repentant,  crushed,  a 
new  creature.  I  think  he  never  touched  liquor  after  that. 


AT   MOSSY    BANK   AGAtN.  533 

"At  first  the  Doctor  seemed  determined  that  David 
should  be  punished  for  his  crime,  But  he  yielded  to 
our  importunities  at  last,  and  would  have  abandoned 
the  prosecution  if  ,he  could.  David  was  fading  into 
the  grave,  any  way.  His  trial  and  conviction  would 
disgrace  the  whole  family.  Mother  was  beside  herself 
with  grief.  David  begged  her  daily,  with  the  piteous- 
ness  of  a  child,  to  save  him  from  the  penitentiary. 
Under  all  the  circumstances,  the  Doctor  finally  became 
exceedingly  anxious  that  the  prosecution  should  be 
dropped.  After  I  had  recovered  I  was  sent  to  see 
Mr.  Hartman,  and  ascertain  what  could  be  done. 
David  had  been  indicted,  and  the  case  was  to  come  up 
the  following  week. 

"  'What  can  be  done  to  save  my  poor  brother?'  I 
asked. 

"  He  sat  in  silence  f(  i  a  long  time.  It  seemed  an 
age  to  me.  Manifestly  it  was  a  desperate  case. 

"'There  is  no  hope  for  him,'  he  said.  'He  is 
bound  to  be  convicted.  The  crime  is  a  grave  one,  and 
the  punishment  severe.' 

"'But  he  must  not  be  convicted,'  I  said,  plead 
ingly.  '  My  poor  brother  did  n't  realize  what  he  was 
doing,  and  my  mother  will  go  insane  with  grief  if 
harm  befalls  him.  You  must  save  him  in  some  v/ay. ' 

"'The  naked  facts  are  insurmountable,'  said  the 
lawyer.  '  You  would  tell  the  truth  if  put  on  the  wit 
ness-stand.  I  would  expect  you  to  do  so.  I  would  n't 
touch  the  case  if  I  thought  you  would  perjure  yourself 
even  to  save  your  brother.  What  would  be  the  result  ? 
David  would  be  convicted  on  your  testimony.  With 
out  your  testimony  it  would  be  difficult  to  convict  him. 
The  circumstances  against  him  might  be  handled  if  you 
were  only  out  of  the  way.  He  has  been  close-mouthed, 
and  has  made  no  confessions  or  quasi-confessions  to 
rise  up  in  judgment  against  him.  So  if  you  were  out 
of  the  way  your  brother  would  be  comparatively  safe. 
I  don't  think  the  Government  would  go  to  trial  without 
your  testimony.' 


534  A    SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

"'But  the  Doctor  has  relented,  and  is  no  longer 
pressing  the  case, '  I  urged.  '  Are  the  officers  deter 
mined  to  go  on,  even  against  our  wishes  ? ' 

"  'This  is  an  offense  against  society,'  he  answered. 
'  Of  course  you  know  that  a  criminal  case  can  not  be 
compromised  by  the  parties.  David  is  under  indict 
ment,  and  the  matter  is  under  the  cognizance  of  the 
Government,  and  there  is  a  disposition  to  punish  with 
out  mercy  for  crimes  committed  on  the  high  seas.  I 
have  seen  and  talked  with  the  Government's  attorney. 
Your  brother  can  expect  no  mercy  from  him.' 

"  'Then  what,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  is  to  be 
done?'  I  cried,  in  despair. 

' '  '  There  is  but  one  possible  way  to  save  .  your 
brother,  and  that  will  require  a  great  sacrifice  on  your 
part. ' 

"  'Name  it.     No  sacrifice  can  daunt  me.' 

"'The  Government  must  be  deprived  of  your 
testimony.' 

"  '  I  can  not  perjure  myself.' 

"  '  You  need  not  perjure  yourself.  You  must  bury 
yourself  in  some  western  town.' 

"Immediately  a  great  burden  was  taken  from  me. 
I  grasped  my  companion  by  the  hand,  and  there,  with 
my  friend's  approbation,  and  to  save  my  brother  from 
the  consequences  of  his  crime,  I  vowed  I  would  leave 
the  State,  never  to  return  till  the  danger  was  over. 
Arrangements  were  perfected  for  correspondence  in 
such  a  way  that  no  one  outside  of  the  family,  except 
Mr.  Hartman,  should  have  any  knowledge  of  my 
whereabouts.  Thus  we  separated. 

"My  leave-taking  of  David  was  very  sad;  for  I 
was  sure  I  would  never  see  him  again.  He  wept  and 
clung  to  me,  and  followed  me  to  the  gate  when  I  left. 
He  was  standing  at  the  gate  at  mother's  side  when  I 
turned  the  corner  of  the  next  block,  and  lost  sight  of 
him  forever. 

"This  is  the  reason  for  my  coming  to  Wellington, 
and  living  under  the  name  of  William  Manning.  Of 


AT    MOSSY    BANK    AGAIN.  535 

course  I  could  not  talk  about  my  home  and  family,  and 
carry  out  my  purpose  successfully.  Such  a  manner  of 
life  necessarily  caused  talk  and  created  suspicion,  but 
I  tried  to  live  in  such  a  way  as  to  show  that  there  was 
nothing  criminal  in  my  former  history. 

"  My  brother  was  never  tried.  The  day  I  left  Wel 
lington  I  received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Hartman  stating 
that  David  was  dead ;  and  so  instead  of  going  to  Colo 
rado,  as  I  had  intended  to  do,  I  went  back  to  James 
town,  and  have  lived  at  home  there  ever  since. 

"I  do  not  say  that  my  course  was  the  wisest  one. 
Some  other  might  have  been  better.  Some  old  Spartan 
might  have  sacrificed  a  brother  under  like  circumstances 
for  the  suppression  of  crime  and  the  good  of  the  State ; 
but  I  do  n't  profess  to  belong  to  a  race  of  stony-hearted 
heroes.  I  couldn't  let  my  brother  wear  out  the  rem 
nant  of  his  life  within  the  walls  of  a  penitentiary." 

Katie  had  listened  with  intense  interest  to  this 
strange  history.  This,  then,  was  the  explanation  of  Mr. 
Huntington's  mystery.  To  save  a  brother  he  had 
changed  his  name,  and  drawn  the  veil  of  secrecy  over 
the  past,  and  borne  the  bitter  reproaches  of  slanderous 
tongues.  She  thought  none  the  less  of  her  hero  for 
his  noble  sacrifice  of  himself  for  another's  good.  She 
doubted  not  for  an  instant  the  truth  of  the  narrative  she 
had  heard. 

"I  think  you  did  right,"  she  said.  "  I  suppose 
society  will  suffer  no  great  injury  because  poor  David 
was  not  made  to  suffer  the  full  vengeance  of  the  law." 

"  And  now,"  said  Mr.  Huntington,  "you  know  that 
Miss  Bessie  Lowell  is  my  sister — only  a  half-sister,  and 
nothing  more." 

Katie  thought  this  statement  an  ungenerous  thrust. 
Certainly  he  would  have  to  admit  that  appearances  were 
against  him,  and  that  to  a  lover  ignorant  of  his  real 
history  he  must  have  appeared  as  a  base  deceiver  when 
he  had  his  arms  around  Bessie  Lowell  at  the  Peoria 
depot,  "  But  hush  !  "  thought  Katie,  by  way  of  a  quiet 
admonition  to  herself,  "he  doesn't  know  that  I  saw 


536  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARV. 

him  and  Bessie  at  Peoria.  What  a  silly,  jealous  child  t 
was  !  He  certainly  will  never  hear  of  it  from  me !  For 
if  anything  should  happen,  and  we  should  make  up, 
and  should"  —  here  occurred  a  long  dash  in  her 
thoughts — "  he  never  would  quit  teasing  me  about  my 
Peoria  trip  !  I  know  him  !  "  And  thus  ended  her  self- 
admonition. 

William  Huntington  seemed  to  have  something  else 
to  say,  and  yet  not  to  know  how  to  say  it.  Katie  arose 
and  remarked  that  it  was  getting  late,  and  she  must  go 
home  immediately.  * 

' '  Wait  one  moment, "  pleaded  Mr.  Huntington.  ' '  I 
have  something  else  to  say  to  you.  I  am  accused  of  the 
murder  of  your  father.  Before  God,  I  am  not  guilty. 
I  can  explain  all — I  can  prove  my  innocence — I  can  now 
expose  the  foul  conspiracy  concocted  against  me. 
Katie,  I  am  not  guilty.  Surely,  you  can  't  believe  I  am. 
Surely  you  would  not  have  listened  to  me  here  this 
afternoon,  if  you  had  believed  me  to  be  your  father's 
murderer.  Believe  me— trust  me,  won't  you,  darling  ?'' 

Katie  trembled  like  a  leaf. 

"I  don't  believe  you  are  guilty,"  she  stammered. 
"  But  before  I  make  any  promise,  you  must  demonstrate 
your  innocence.  I  can  not — I  can  not  have  anything 
to  do  with  a  man  who  may  by  any  possibility  be  my 
father's  murderer." 

William  Huntington  marked  the  emphasis  of  her 
words  ;  he  respected  and  loved  her  all  the  more  on  that 
account. 

"I  don't  ask  your  love  on  any  other  terms,"  he 
cried  impetuously.  ' '  I  am  ready  now  to  demonstrate 
my  innocence.  If  I  do  that  successfully,  you  will  be 
my  own  darling  Katie  again?" 

He  made  a  movement  as  though  he  would  have 
taken  her  hand,  but  she  drew  back  and  said:  "Not 
now — not  now.  When  I  can  know  that  my  father's 
blood  is  not  on  your  hands,  you  will  find  me — the  same 
— as  when  we  first  met  here." 

"Oh,  then  you  will  surely  be  mine  !  "  he  exclaimed. 


AT  MOSSY  BANK  AGAIN.  $37 

' '  The  day  dawns  at  last,  thank  God  !  And  now  farewell 
for  a  time.  I  must  not  be  seen  with  you — I  must  not 
compromise  you  in  the  eyes  of  the  people — till  I  have 
acquitted  myself  of  the  charge  of  killing  your  father. 
I  go  to  surrender  myself  to  the  sheriff,  and  to-night, 
when  you  pray,  remember  and  pray  for  me." 

"Oh,  no!  no!"  she  cried  in  alarm.  "The  feeling 
against  you  is  terrible  !  Flee  at  once !  The  people  will 
mob  you !  Go  while  you  can — go,  my  own  darling 
love !  "  She  put  her  hand  on  his  shoulder  as  if  to  em 
phasize  her  words,  and  then,  as  she  felt  his  arm  steal 
around  her  waist,  dropped  her  head  upon  his  breast. 
She  trembled  violently.  He  raised  her  head  and  kissed 
her  tenderly. 

"All  will  be  well  at  last,"  he  said.  "I  am  pre 
pared  to  meet  my  accusers,  and  demonstrate  my  inno 
cence  to  judge  and  jury."  He  kissed  her  again,  and 
essayed  gently  to  free  himself  from  her  arms,  for  she 
was  now  clinging  to  him  like  a  frightened  child. 

"Go,"  she  whispered.  "You're  in  danger  here! 
I  believe  you  !  I  trust  you !  I  '11  come  to  you,  even  to 
the  ends  of  the  earth !  Please  hear  me — mind  me — go, 
if  you  love  me — quick !  quick  !  before  you  're  dis 
covered  !  " 

He  took  her  arms  from  about  his  neck,  held  her 
hands  for  a  moment  in  his,  kissed  her  once  more, 
whispered,  "  God  bless  you  and  keep  you  !  "  and  glided 
away  from  Mossy  Bank  as  silently  as  he  had  come. 

"Oh,  if  they  do  harm  him,"  Katie  sobbed,  "I'll 
go  to  the  grave  with  him." 

That  night  William  Huntington,  alias  William  Man 
ning,  entered  the  sherift's  office,  surrendered  himself  to 
that  astonished  officer,  and  was  locked  up  in  a  felon's 
cell.  And  that  night  Katie  Anderson  wept  and  prayed 
for  him /ill  the  rising  of  the  morning  star. 


•- 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

CONQUERING    A    MOB. 

Before  noon  on  the  following  day,  every  man. 
woman  and  child  in  Wellington  and  vicinity  had  heard 
the  strange  intelligence  that  William  Huntington,  the 
red-handed  murderer,  etc.,  etc.,  had  voluntarily  re 
turned  from  his  exile,  had  deliberately  entered  the 
office  of  Sheriff  Hazelbrush,  and  had  surrendered  him 
self  to  that  officer,  with  the  statement  that  he  had  come 
to  demand  a  trial  and  to  establish  his  innocence  of  any 
complicity  in  the  murder  of  Henry  Anderson.  There 
was  a  general  stampede  in  the  direction  of  the  jail,  and 
a  general  and  constant  clamor  for  admission  to  the 
presence  of  the  criminal.  Men  and  boys  gathered 
around  the  jail,  in  the  street,  alley  and  yard,  and  stood, 
with  eyes  fixed  intently  on  the  iron  bars  of  the  windows, 
in  the  vain  hope  that  Huntington  might  appear  and 
gratify  their  curiosity.  Some  essayed,  with  the  aid  of 
pieces  of  boards  which  they  found  in  the  vicinity,  to 
climb  up  to  the  windows  and  thus  obtain  a  view  of  the 
imprisoned  felon.  Just  what  they  expected  to  see  is 
not  known.  Most  of  them  had  seen  him  as  Manning- 
hundreds  of  times.  But  for  the  fact  that  he  was 
charged  with  crime,  they  would  have  wasted  little  time 
in  seeking  to  see  him  as  Huntington.  Whatever  the 
reason  may  have  been,  it  is  certain  that  the  people  re 
garded  him  now  as  an  object  of  absorbing  interest. 
They  wanted  to  see  how  he  "  looked."  They  wondered 
if  the  accusation  had  metamorphosed  the  appearance 
of  the  man.  Doubtless,  some  of  them,  if  favored 
with  an  inspection  of  the  accused,  would  have  pro 
nounced  him  guilty  from  certain  physiological  changes, 
they  would  have  detected  in  his  appearance.  Some 
would  have  found  a  sinister  expression  about  his  eye, 
which  had  always  been  observable  there,  but  which 

S3» 


CONQUERING    A    MO6.  539 

had  become  more  marked  with  the  evolution  of  the 
hellishness  of  his  disposition.  Others  would  have  ob 
served  a  hardness  in  the  lines  around  his  mouth,  indic 
ative  of  a  hard,  merciless,  unrelenting,  malicious,  and 
even  murderous  spirit,  and  pointing  to  him  unerringly 
as  a  man  who  was  at  least  capable  of  such  a  deed, 
whether  actually  guilty  of  this  particular  crime  or  not. 
Others  would  have  found  his  face  bearing  the  haggard 
appearance -of  a  murderer,  and  would  have  drawn  a  con 
clusion  of  guilt  from  this  single  criminating  circum 
stance.  One  man  was  heard  to  say  that  murder  would 
out.  This  was  by  no  means  an  original  remark,  but 
was  nevertheless  a  dreadful  one  under  the  circumstances, 
amounting,  as  it  did,  to  a  prejudgment  of  the  case.  He 
could  not  flee  from  his  guilty  conscience,  said  another, 
and  so,  after  a  lapse  of  two  years,  goaded  to  des 
peration  by  his  terrible  secret,  he  had  come  back  to 
plead  guilty  and  expiate  his  crime  on  the  gallows. 

Throughout  the  day  the  jail  was  besieged  by  a  bois 
terous  crowd,  surging  hither  and  thither,  discussing 
the  crime,  denouncing  the  murderer,  and  shouting 
forth  imprecations  and  threats.  As  twilight  ap 
proached,  .the  crowd  appeared  to  increase  rather  than 
to  diminish.  Many  had  been  drinking  at  intervals 
during  the  day,  and  had  therefore  become  bold,  noisy 
and  demonstrative.  The  Sheriff  at  last  became  uneasy, 
fearing  that  an  effort  might  be  made  to  lynch  the 
prisoner,  and  sent  for  Lyman  Sawtheaire,  Esq.,  to 
advise  with  him  concerning  the  situation  and  the  course 
which  ought  to  be  pursued  by  himself  as  the  custodian 
of  the  accused. 

The  advice  of  the  State's  attorney  was  coolly  and 
cautiously  given,  in  tones  very  low  and  persuasive, 
and  with  a  gentle  admonition  that  his  advice  was  given 
in  the  capacity  of  a  friend  and  not  of  an  officer.  In 
the  first  place,  the  guileless  lawyer  thought  the  defend 
ant  was  not  in  the  slightest  danger.  The  crowd  had 
assembled  through  curiosity,  and  not  with  any  intention 
of  violence,  and  would  certainly  disperse  by  ten  or 


A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

eleven  o'clock.  If  he  was  sheriff,  he  would  give  him 
self  no  uneasiness  about  the  matter,  but  would  let 
events  take  their  natural  course.  No  sheriff  would  be 
held  responsible  for  what  he  could  not  help.  Suppose 
the  crowd  should  become  maddened  and  resort  to  vio 
lence,  it  would  not  be  the  duty  of  the  sheriff  to  imperil 
his  own  life  for  the  purpose  of  saving  one  who  had 
committed  the  gravest  crime  known  to  law,  and  had 
certainly  forfeited  his  life  thereby.  The  sheriff  would 
be  expected,  in  such  cases,  to  make  some  show  of  re 
sistance,  and  then  to  yield  when  it  should  become  ap 
parent  that  resistance,  would  be  useless.  No  grand 
jury  would  indict  an  officer  under  such  circumstances ; 
and  if  they  should,  he,  as  the  representative  of  the 
people,  would  refuse  to  prosecute.  He  summed  up 
the  whole  matter  by  repeating  that  Huntington  was  in 
no  danger  of  being  mobbed ;  but  that  if  he  was,  the 
sheriff  was  powerless  to  help  him,  and  was  under  no 
obligation  to  put  his  own  life  and  the  lives  of  his  family 
and  friends  in  jeopardy  to  save  the  life  of  a  felon  who 
must  sooner  or  later  suffer  death  for  his  crime.  "You 
ought  not  to  complain,"  he  said,  "if  the  mob  rob  you 
of  so  unpleasant  a  duty." 

But  the  Sheriff  was  by  no  means  satisfied  with  this 
advice.  He  had  seen  and  heard  enough  during  the 
day  to  know  that  danger  was  imminent,  and  he  could 
not  reconcile  his  conscience  to  the  easy  course  sug 
gested  by  that  pure  and  upright  gentleman,  the  State's 
attorney.  The  Sheriff  was  rough  in  manner,  unlettered 
and  uncultured.  But  he  was  an  honest  man  and  an 
upright  officer.  He  was  well  aware  of  the  fact  that 
a  mere  show  of  resistance  to  the  mob  in  this  case  would 
be  his  vindication  before  the  people,  in  whose  esti 
mation  the  prisoner  was  guilty  beyond  doubt.  But 
the  law  had  guaranteed  to  every  man  a  trial  before  exe 
cution.  Innocent  men  had  been  condemned  to  death 
and  executed  under  the  form  of  a  trial.  How  much 
greater  the  danger,  then,  if  an  accused  should  be  exe 
cuted  without  an  opportunity  to  be  heard  in  his 


CONQUERING    A    MOB.  541 

defense !  Sheriff  Hazelbrush  resolved  to  prepare  to 
defend  the  jail  and  his  prisoner  from  any  violence  on 
the  part  of  the  mob. 

Early  in  the  evening  several  men  were  admitted  to 
the  jail,  among  them  Marion  Spence  and  Colonel  Mans 
field.  These  were  duly  armed  with  revolvers,  and 
ordered  to  hold  themselves  in  readiness  to  resist  any 
attack  that  might  be  made. 

The  Sheriff  was  certainly  justified  in  his  anxiety  for 
his  prisoner  and  in  making  preparations  for  the  helpless 
man's  defense.  The  character  of  the  crowd  which  be 
sieged  the  jail  was  of  itself,  sufficient  to  arouse  the  ap 
prehensions  of  any  reasonable  man.  There  were  some 
children  from  whom,  of  course,  no  violence  was  to  be 
feared.  Occasionally  a  business  man  or  an  industrious, 
law-abiding  farmer  mingled  for  a  few  minutes  with  the 
crowd,  and  then  went  on  about  his  business.  But  the 
greater  part  of  the  mass  was  made  up  of  lawless, 
quarrelsome,  drinking,  irresponsible  men,  who  were 
ready  to  do  deeds  of  violence  on  short  notice,  if  only 
some  one  was  bold  enough  to  lead  the  way.  Among 
them  was  Jack  Brawdy,  who  had  been  fined  half  a 
dozen  times  for  carrying  concealed  weapons,  and  who 
had  been  in  more  fights  and  cutting  rencontres  than 
any  of  his  comrades.  He  had  come  to  the  jail 
early.  He  spent  most  of  the  day  there,  with  a  mur 
derous  looking  knife  in  his  hand,  which  he  pretended 
to  be  using  for  the  innocent  amusement  of  whittling. 
He  was  loud  and  boisterous ;  declared  that  Huntington 
was  guilty,  and  should  be  "  strung  up  in  short  order  ;" 
asserted  that  he  would  be  willing  to  attend  such  a 
"necktie  party"  himself,  if  there  were  half  a  dozen 
more  loyal,  law-abiding  citizens  within  the  sound  of 
his  voice  who  would  volunteer  to  assist  in  this  virtuous 
enterprise.  He  had  a  great  deal  to  say  about  the 
lameness  and  inefficiency  of  the  law,  and  the  law's  de 
lay,  and  the  necessity  for  prominent  citizens  arising  in 
their  righteous  indignation  and  meting  out  punishment 
to  offenders  in  a  swift,  sure  and  terrible  manner. 


542  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

Another  of  the  bystanders,  guardian  of  the  inalien 
able  rights  of  the  people  and  self-constituted  conserva 
tor  of  the  public  peace,  was  Raz  Shoorshot,  who  joined 
with  his  amiable  friend  Jack  Brawdy  in  denunciation  of 
the  law,  lawyers  and  courts,  and  swore,  with  oaths  too 
terrible  to  repeat,  that  it  was  time  for  law-abiding  citi 
zens  to  take  the  law  into  their  own  hands.  Shoorshot 
wore  a  pair  of  pants,  a  pair  of  boots,  and  a  shirt.  He 
was  without  suspenders,  collar,  or  necktie.  His  pants 
were  kept  in  position  by  a  leathern  belt.  The  upper 
part  of  his  shirt  was  unfastened,  and  his  shirt  rolled 
under  so  as  to  expose  a  due  portion  of  his  bull-like 
neck,  and  inspire  all  beholders  with  awe  at  his  ex 
cellent  physique.  To  further  emphasize  his  fighting  pro 
pensities,  his  sleeves  were  rolled  up,  while  a  bulge  in 
the  vicinity  of  his  hip  pocket  indicated  that  he  was  pre 
pared,  at  the  slightest  opportunity,  to  invoke  the  heaven- 
born  right  of  self-defense.  He  boasted  that  he  could 
pick  the  eye  out  of  a  hog  at  thirty  paces,  and  would 
pierce  the  ear  of  the  first  man  who  should  be  so  reckless 
of  his  surroundings  and  inconsiderate  of  Raz  Shoor- 
shot's  claim  to  lordship  as  to  give  him  a  saucy  word. 

Another  vindicator  of  the  public  morals  who  re 
mained  on  the  grounds  all  day  was  an  eminent  pro 
fessional  gentleman  generally  known  as  Light-fingered 
Bill.  This  gentleman,  in  the  orderly  pursuit  of  his 
profession,  had  knocked  a  fellow  mortal  down  on  the 
public  highway,  and  abstracted  from  his  pocket  about 
three  hundred  dollars  of  good  and  lawful  money  of 
the  United  States ;  whereupon  he  had  been  arrested, 
indicted,  convicted,  and  sentenced  to  the  penitentiary. 
Messrs.  Squabble,  Wriggle  and  Dabble  had  been  his 
attorneys.  It  had  been  alleged  at  the  time  that  they 
had  received  part  of  Bill's  ill-gotten  gains,  and,  though 
sharing  the  booty,  declined  to  participate  in  the  punish 
ment.  Light-fingered  Bill  served  half  his  term  in  the 
penitentiary,  and  then,  having  professed  a  change  of 
heart,  was  overwhelmed  with  sympathy  from  ladies  of 
a  sentimental  turn,  who  rested  not,  night  or  day,  till 


CONQUERING    A    MOB.  543 

this  regenerated  robber  was  pardoned  by  the  Governor. 
Bill  returned  home  and  became  the  hero  of  his 
peculiar  circle  of  acquaintances,  who  were  accustomed 
to  gather  admiringly  around  him  on  rainy  days,  and 
listen,  with  rapt  attention,  to  the  rehearsal  of  his  ex 
periences  in  the  penitentiary.  Shortly  after  his  exit 
from  the  prison  walls,  Bill  experienced  another  change 
of  heart.  If  there  was  any  doubt  as  to  the  first 
change,  there  was  none  as  to  his  last  and  present 
estate.  And  now,  on  this  eventful  day,  Bill  was  a 
prominent  character  in  the  crowd  that  surrounded  the 
jail,  and  actually  boiled  with  indignation  at  the  un 
certainty  of  punishment  as  the  law  was  administered  in 
the  so-called  halls  of  justice,  and  shook  hands  with 
Jack  Brawdy,  and  assured  him  that  he  would  be  one  of 
the  half-dozen  volunteers  called  for. 

These  seemed  to  be  the  leading  spirits  of  the  crowd, 
the  representative  men  of  this  executive  assembly. 
Most  of  their  companions  were  desperadoes,  gamblers 
and  drunkards.  Here  and  there  were  seen  a  few 
reputable  and  respectable  citizens ;  but  these  were 
quiet  and  inclined  to  stand  afar  off.  The  mob  was 
composed  of  the  worst  elements  of  the  community; 
and  this,  of  itself,  was  sufficient  to  put  the  Sheriff  on 
his  guard. 

Besides,  the  intelligence  that  Huntington  was  in 
jail  demanding  a  trial  had  fallen  like  a  thunderbolt  on 
the  heads  of  our  friends  Sawtheaire,  Holly  and  Trinken- 
viellager.  Poor  Joe  Jimson  was  bed-fast,  irrational 
part  of  the  time,  and  not  suffered  to  know  what  was 
going  on.  So  he,  at  any  rate,  was  not  disturbed  by 
this  unlocked  for  event,  which  had  caused  such  a  com 
motion  in  the  city.  But  the  other  three  lost  no  time 
in  getting  together  for  consultation.  The  Mayor  was 
nervous  and  excited,  as  well  he  might  be.  Sawtheaire 
and  Holly  were  outwardly  calm,  collected  and  indiffer 
ent.  Inwardly  they  were  filled  with  strange  fears  and 
forebodings.  The  Mayor,  while  apprehensive  of  dan 
ger,  was  nevertheless  too  slow  and  dull  to  appreciate 


544  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

as  yet  the  full  gravity  of  the  situation.  Not  so  with 
Sawtheaire  and  Holly.  They  well  knew  that  Hunring- 
ton  was  keen,  shrewd  and  intelligent.  They  were  sat 
isfied  he  must  have  known  the  nature  and  extent  of  the 
evidence  against  him  before  he  ventured  to  return  to 
Wellington.  They  were  also  satisfied  that  he  would  not 
have  returned  unless  he  had  had  most  cogent  reasons 
for  believing  that  he  could  establish  his  innocence  in 
court.  To  prove  his  innocence  would  probably  necessi 
tate  proof  of  the  guilt  of  some  one  else.  Had  he  any 
clew?  If  so,  how  had  he  obtained  it?  What  could  be 
the  nature  of  his  defense?  The  whole  situation  was 
involved  in  mystery  and  obscurity. 

"  The  mob  !  "  exclaimed  Sawtheaire.  "That  is  our 
surest  hope  !  It  has  been  said  that  dead  men  tell  no 
tales!  And  it  is  true!  " 

Accordingly,  Sawtheaire  mingled  with  the  crowd 
from  time  to  time,  dexterously  tossing  a  fire-brand  in 
this  direction  and  another  in  that,  in  the  hope  that  the 
mob  might  be  inflamed  to  make  an  infallible  certainty  of 
their  dreadful  work,  without  any  part  of  the  responsi 
bility  attaching  to  the  honorable  State's  attorney.  He 
took  pains  to  remark  in  the  presence  and  hearing  of 
Jack  Brawdy  that  the  difficulty  of  convicting  men  of 
brains,  education  and  standing  was  so  great  that  no 
good  citizen  could  blame  the  people  for  hanging 
offenders  in  advance  of  the  sitting  of  the  courts.  He  said 
to  Raz  Shoorshot  that  the  people  seemed  to  have  lost 
all  patience  with  the  law's  tardy  method  of  dealing  with 
criminals,  and  that  he  feared  he  would  never  have  the 
pleasure  of  prosecuting  his  former  political  antagonist. 
He  did  really  desire  that  the  people  would  restrain  their 
feelings,  but  he  could  not  censure  them  if  they  should 
lose  control  of  themselves,  and  vindicate  the  law  in  a 
summary  manner.  With  these  and  many  similar  re 
marks,  this  amiable  attorney  sought  to  soothe  the  ruf 
fled  feelings  of  the  gentlemen  who  surrounded  the  jail, 
and  to  induce  them  to  abandon  every  thought  of  lynch 
ing  William  Huntingdon, 


CONQUERING    A    MOB.  545 

During  all  this  time  there  was  no  one  in  Wellington 
who  felt  more  alarm  than  Katie  Anderson.  Her  brother 
brought  home  the  news  at  noon  that  a  mob  was  sur 
rounding  the  jail,  and  that  the  prisoner  was  in  immedi 
ate  danger  of  a  violent  death  before  the  dawning  of 
another  day.  Katie  left  her  dinner  untasted.  She  would 
have  hastened  to  the  jail  if  she  could  have  averted  the 
danger  by  doing  so.  But  what  could  she  do  in  such  a 
rabble  ?  She  put  on  her  hat  and  hurried  away  to  the 
boarding-house  of  Elizabeth  Oakford.  She  rang  the 
bell,  and  was  informed  by  the  landlady,  who  came  to 
the  door,  that  Elizabeth  had  been  at  Joe  Jimson's  since 
the  evening  before ;  that  the  poor  old  drunkard  was 
going  to  die  at  last,  and  needed  the  strong,  gentle 
woman's  help.  There  at  Joe  Jimson's  Katie  found  her. 
The  old  man  was  delirious  at  times,  and  required  the 
constant  attention  of  his  watchers.  During  his  rational 
moments  he  was  constantly  calling  for  Elizabeth,  and 
would  scarcely  suffer  her  to  leave  the  room  for  a  mo 
ment.  When  the  heavy  hand  of  disease  bore  him  down, 
his  sincere  friends,  the  saloon-keepers,  wasted  but  little 
of  their  precious  time  in  taking  care  of  him.  Nor  did 
he,  for  that  matter,  seem  to  desire  their  company.  He 
was  drawing  too  near  to  the  grave  to  relish  their  com 
panionship.  He  sent  for  Elizabeth  Oakford.  He 
thought  she  might  help  him  along  the  dark  valley.  She 
came  at  the  first  summons  to  assist  Mrs.  Jimson  in 
taking  care  of  the  sufferer ;  and  had  given  of  her  time, 
and  of  her  means  as  well,  to  alleviate  his  sufferings  and 
smooth  his  pathway  to  the  grave. 

To  this  good  woman,  strange  compound  of  mascu 
linity  and  the  tenderest  of  womanly  graces,  Katie  un 
burdened  her  heart,  and  with  sobs  and  tears  expressed 
her  fears.  Elizabeth  had  never  seen  her  young  friend 
so  terribly  agitated. 

"I'll  go  and  see  Mr.  Huntington  for  you, "  she 
said,  as  she  tenderly  kissed  Katie's  forehead.  "Go 
home,  dear,  and  do  not  be  alarmed.  We  will  manage 
to  keep  this  mob  at  bay,  if  not  in  one  way,  then  cer- 


546  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

tainly  in  another.     Rely  upon  me,  dearest,  to  do  all 
that  can  be  done." 

How  strong  Katie  felt  when  she  heard  these  words 
from  this  weak  woman !  Fear  gave  place  to  hope. 
Elizabeth's  promises  could  not  be  broken.  If  she  was 
willing  to  be  Mr.  Huntington's  champion,  he  was  no 
longer  in  jeopardy.  Not  even  a  mob  would  dare  to 
disobey  Elizabeth.  At  least,  so  Katie  thought. 

That  afternoon  when  Joe  Jicnson  grew  measurably 
quiet,  Elizabeth  stole  away  from  the  sick-room  and 
walked  rapidly  to  the  jail.  How  she  shrank  from  con 
tact  with  the  mob!  How  the  coarse  language  and 
rough  jests  that  corrupted  the  air  wounded  her  refined 
sensibilities !  Yet  to  the  observer  she  appeared  as 
bold  and  determined  as  a  warrior  in  the  hour  of  deadli 
est  combat.  As  she  paused  in  front  of  the  jail,  the  voice 
of  the  jester  ceased.  The  cries  of  "  Hang  him  !  "  were 
heard  no  more.  For  the  men  of  Wellington,  whatever 
they  may  have  thought  of  her  teachings,  had  learned 
to  respect  this  noble  woman.  Her  purity  of  heart,  her 
self-sacrificing  labors  for  others,  had  won  for  her  the 
golden  opinions  of  all  except  the  very  basest.  A  way 
was  respectfully  opened  for  her  through  the  crowd,  and 
she  passed  from  their  sight  into  the  dwelling  house 
attached  to  the  jail. 

There  she  found  the  Sheriff.  Her  first  mission  was 
with  him.  And  if,  in  the  evening,  the  Sheriff  gathered 
a  faithful  band  of  special  deputies  around  him  to  assist 
in  the  defense  of  the  unfortunate  prisoner,  it  is  certain 
that  he  was  partially  inspired  to  this  act  by  the  im 
perative  requests  and  earnest  entreaties  of  Elizabeth 
Oakford. 

Could  she  see  the  accused  for  a  few  minutes  ?  How 
could  the  Sheriff  deny  her  petition  ?  No  one  had  been 
admitted  to  the  cell  during  the  long  day  ;  but  Elizabeth 
was  entitled  to  privileges  which  others  could  not  claim, 
and  the  Sheriff  led  her  to  the  jail,  unfastened  bolts  and 
bars,  and  conducted  her  to  the  cell  where  William 
Huntington  was  imprisoned. 


CONQUERING    A    MOB.  547 

There  he  stood  by  the  door,  pale  as  death;  for- he 
had  heard  the  cries  of  the  maddened  rabble,  and  real 
ized  the  danger  he  was  in  ;  and  yet  defiant  and  unflinch 
ing,  conscious  of  his  innocence,  and  ready  to  walk  with 
firm  step  to  his  doom  if  he  should  be  abandoned  to  the 
mob  for  execution.  How  his  face  brightened  when 
Elizabeth  put  her  delicate  hand  through  the  iron  bars 
and  suffered  him  to  take  it  for  an  instant !  Her  pres 
ence  brought  courage  and  hope  to  him,  as  it  had  ever 
done  to  the  distressed  and  suffering.  With  fervent  and 
grateful  words  he  thanked  her  for  coming  to  see  him. 

"You,  at  least,  know  I  am  innocent,"  he  said  in 
a  low  whisper,  not  willing  that  the  Sheriff  should 
overhear  the  statement.  "  But  innocent  or  guilty,  it 
seems  to  be  all  one  to  me  now.  Judging  from  the 
noise  outside,  I  '11  have  little  need  for  a  jury." 

"  Do  not  fear."  said  Elizabeth.  "  The  Sheriff  has 
promised  to  protect  you,  and  will  have  armed  men  here 
to-night  to  hold  the  mob  at  bay.  This  rabble  will  dis 
perse  as  soon  as  it  is  known  that  armed  men  will  resist 
to  the  death.  The  movement  is  in  the  hands  of  law 
breakers,  as  mobs  generally  are,  who  hope  to  earn  a 
little  notoriety  for  being  good  citizens  by  howling 
about  the  law's  delay,  and  hanging  some  one  without 
trial.  Such  men  are  cowards  at  heart,  and  will  not 
stand  fire  in  an  enterprise  like  this.  Besides,  I  expect 
to  be  here  and  help  guard  you.''  She  smiled  slightly 
as  she  uttered  the  last  words. 

"Gracious  heavens,  Miss  Oakford ! "  exclaimed 
Huntington.  "This  will  be  no  place  for  you  to-night. 
Blood  will  be  shed,  in  all  probability.  It  may  be 
mine ;  or  some  brave  fellow  may  fall  in  my  defense. 
If  you  are  here,  a  stray  bullet  may  end  your  life.  You 
must  keep  away  from  this  jail  to-night.  Remember 
that  I  alone  am  responsible  for  being  here.  You 
warned  me  of  the  danger — begged  me  to  stay  away  till 
court  should  be  in  session.  I  thought  you  magnified 
the  danger,  and  came  in  spite  of  warning.  And  now 
no  woman  shall  endanger  her  life  for  me — least  of  all, 


A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

you,  who  have  done  so  much  for  me.     Leave  this  jail 
and  stay  away.     Do  you  hear  me  ?    I  command  you  !  " 

"I  make  no  rash  promises,"  she  said  lightly. 
'  But  you  must — you  shall — mind  me  in  this." 

' '  I  mind  only  myself,  and  my  own  poor  ideas  of 
duty,  Mr.  Huntington.  You  ought  to  know  that  well 
enough  by  this  time.  And  you  ought  to  know  the 
folly  of  expostulation  with  me.  What  I  esteem  to  be 
my  duty,  that  I  will  do."  She  did  not  emphasize  her 
statements  by  a  stamp  on  the  stone  floor.  She  stood 
motionless.  But  the  calm,  invincible  determination 
that  burned  in  her  eyes  spoke  the  unalterableness  of 
her  purpose. 

"  Miss  Oakford,  you  must  not  incur  this  danger  for 
my  sake,"  he  said^appealingly. 

' '  Perhaps  I  would  not  for  your  sake  alone,  but  for 
the  sake  of  my  sweet  Katie  I  would  dare  anything." 

The  tears  welled  up  into  Huntington's  eyes,  and  he 
silently  breathed  a  prayer  to  God  in  behalf  of  this  no 
ble  woman. 

"Now,  a  word  about  your  trial,"  she  said  present 
ly.  "Everything  is  ready  here,  and  the  evidence  will 
be  forthcoming  at  the  proper  moment.  Will  your  Buf 
falo  friend  come  without  further  notice?  " 

"  He  will  be  here  on  the  first  day  of  the  term." 

"It  will  rejoice  me  to  meet  him  again,"  she  said. 
"I  think  him  a  wonderful  man.  When  he  appears, 
and  our  other  friend  from  Buffalo  takes  the  stand,  and 
all  the  facts  are  developed,  there  will  be  consternation 
in  the  enemy's  camp.  Keep  a  brave  heart  and  a  close 
mouth."  And  then,  before  William  Huntington  could 
speak,  she  added :  ' '  Katie  would  be  here  with  me  if 
she  dared.  Poor  child !  she  is  crushed  with  grief  and 
fear.  You  may  take  my  word  for  it,  Mr.  Huntington, 
that  she  loves  you  with  all  her  heart — and  that  means 
a  great  deal.  And  now,  good  bye. " 

Before  William  Huntington  could  utter  another  word 
to  deter  her  from  her  fixed  purpose,  or  express  the 
gratitude  with  which  his^soul  was  overflowing,  she  was 


CONQUERING   A    MOB.  540 

gone.  The  sunlight  was  streaming  through  the  west 
ern  window  betweeti  the  bars  of  his  cell. 

Elizabeth  went  to  see  Katie  and  cheer  her  heart 
with  hopeful  words,  and  then  back  to  that  humble  home 
where  the  wreck  of  humanity  was  moaning  in  the  agonies 
of  a  dreadful  sickness.  Her  soft  hand  upon  his  fevered 
brow  seemed  to  soothe  him  like  an  anodyne.  Present 
ly  he  opened  his  eyes  and  turned  them  towards  her 
with  a  look  of  profoundest  gratitude.  She  had  done 
much  for  the  afflicted  man.  She  had  gained  his  confi 
dence,  and  he  had  unbosomed  to  her,  as  to  his  con 
fessor,  many  a  dark  and  dreadful  secret.  She  had  in 
spired  in  him  a  more  tender  feeling  for  his  long-neg 
lected  wife,  and  even  at  this  moment  he  called  that  faith 
ful  companion  to  his  bedside,  and  asked  her  to  kneel 
down  there  while  Elizabeth  should  pray  for  them  both. 
Down  to  the  very  depths  of  sin  had  he  been.  Was 
there  hope  for  such  in  the  dying  hour  ?  We  may  not 
know.  We  only  know  that  Elizabeth  prayed  fervently 
for  them  both,  while  the  wife  sobbed  and  clung  to  that 
husband  who  had  so  often  beaten  her  and  otherwise 
cruelly  abused  her,  but  against  whom  she  cherished  no 
unkind  feeling  in  the  hour  of  his  affliction.  And  we 
can  not  believe  that  so  earnest  a  prayer  from  so  noble  a 
woman  was  lightly  heard  by  a  merciful  Heavenly  Father. 

That  even  ing  about  dusk,  and  shortly  after  the  special 
deputies  had  been  admitted,  one  by  one,  to  the  jail, 
Elizabeth  presented  herself  again  at  the  Sheriff's  resi 
dence.  She  requested  to  see  Mr.  Huntington  at  once, 
and  was  taken  to  his  cell.  The  Sheriff  stood  at  a 
respectful  distance,  that  he  might  not  appear  to  be  lis 
tening  to  her  communications.  She  had  thrown  a 
Mght  shawl  around  her  shoulders  so  that  it  hung  down 
loosely  about  her  person,  and  under  that  shawl  and  held 
in  place  by  a  belt  around  her  waist  were  two  weapons 
of  death,  each  loaded  with  six  cartridges.  Was  not 
Elizabeth  afraid  to  have  such  instruments  upon  her 
gerson  ?  Not  when  necessity  required  that  they  should 
be  there.  And  could  this  gentle  being,  whose  province 


55O  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

it  was  to  bring  gladness  and  tenderness  and  grace  into 
the  sick-room,  and  peace  and  comfort  to  troubled  souls, 
press  the  trigger  of  a  revolver  and  send  the  messenger 
of  death  speeding  on  its  way  ?  Very  well  indeed  ;  with 
steady  hand  and  marked  effect,  if  this  were  necessary 
in  the  defense  of  her  honor  or  her  friends. 

"Trust  God,  and  fear  not,"  she  said  to  William 
Huntington  in  a  loud  voice.  Then  she  whispered  so 
softly  that  none  but  the  ears  of  her  friend  could  hear 
what  she  said  :  "  Take  this.  You  may  need  it."  From 
under  her  shawl  she  passed  one  of  the  revolvers  be 
tween  the  bars.  Huntington  grasped  it  and  quickly 
secreted  it.  She  uttered  a  few  more  words  of  encour 
agement,  and  then  retired  to  the  place  where  the 
guards  were,  and  took  her  station  with  them. 

The  crowd  without  continued  to  increase  in  num 
ber.  Their  language  and  demonstrations  became 
more  boisterous.  Cries  of  "Hang  him!"  "Hang 
the  villain!  "  "Bring  on  your  hemp!  "  mingled  with 
oaths  and  obscene  jests,  were  constantly  heard,  and  it 
became  manifest  that  the  expected  struggle  would  not 
be  long  deferred.  The  Sheriff  sent  for  the  Mayor, 
imploring  him  to  come  to  the  jail  and  address  the 
crowd,  and  use  his  influence  to  allay  the  excitement 
and  to  disperse  the  rioters.  The  Mayor  was  desper 
ately  sick,  and  could  not  come.  Then  the  Sheriff  sent 
for  the  State's  attorney.  That  gentleman  had  disap 
peared.  Search  was  made  for  "him  in  vain.  Then 
Colonel  Mansfield,  as  an  old,  respected  and  representa 
tive  citizen,  undertook  to  speak,  but  the  mob  hooted 
and  jeered,  and  swore  that  no  temperance  crank  should 
speak  to  them.  Admonished  by  these  words  and 
by  the  whistling  of  a  brickbat  in  the  vicinity  of 
his  ear,  the  Colonel  desisted  and  retired  from  the 
rostrum.  Then  Sheriff  Hazelbrush  essayed  to  speak. 
The  crowd  listened  for  a  moment  in  silence.  He 
began  by  stating  that  such  demonstrations  were  a 
disgrace  to  the  county.  ' '  Let  the  law  take  its  course, 
gentlemen,"  he  said.  "Hang  the  law!  "  "  Hang  the 


CONQUER/NG   A   MOB.  §51 

villain  !  "  "  Fifteen  feet  of  hemp  will  save  expense  and 
trouble!  "  These  and  similar  exclamations  interrupted 
his  remarks.  Then  he  began  again.  But  neither  rea 
son  nor  persuasion  was  availing.  At  last,  in  despera 
tion,  he  shouted:  "Men,  I  propose  to  do  my  duty. 
I  '11  arm  the  prisoner,  and  tell  him  to  defend  himself. 
There  are  twelve  deputies  here,  armed  to  the  teeth, 
and  an  assault  on  this  jail  will  mean  death  to  some  of 
you.  If  you  touch  the  prisoner,  you  will  pass  over  our 
dead  bodies  to  do  it.  I  'm  not  bluffing — I  'm  in  dead 
earnest." 

But  the  mob  thought  this  was  the  usual  meaningless 
bluff  of  sheriffs  on  such  occasions,  and  would  be  followed 
by  the  surrender  of  the  keys  and  unimpeded  access  to 
their  victim.  Hitherto  they  had  been  without  a  leader. 
Now  Jack  Brawdy  seemed  to  take  command.  "On! 
on  !  "  he  cried.  "We  '11  stand  it  no  longer.  Hand  over 
the  keys,  old  man,  or  I'll  put  a  bullet  through  you." 
He  pressed  towards  the  door,  pistol  in  hand,  with  Raz 
Shoorshot,  Light-fingered  Bill  and  scores  of  others  at 
his  heels.  An  ugly  looking  rope  was  dangling  from 
the  arm  of  Raz  Shoorshot.  Harvey  Holly  was  in  the 
crowd,  close  behind  Light-fingered  Bill.  The  Sheriff 
now  appeared  at  an  upper  window,  read  the  riot  act, 
and  commanded  the  crowd  to  disperse,  warning  them 
that  if  they  did  not  do  so  they  would  be  fired  upon. 
There  was  a  pause  in  the  advancing  column.  The 
leaders  consulted  for  a  few  moments.  Evidently  they 
concluded  that  a  bold  front  would  conquer  the  Sheriff 
and  gain  the  day.  They  moved  towards  the  door 
again,  when  suddenly  the  door  was  unbolted  and 
thrown  wide  open,  and  in  the  doorway  appeared 
Elizabeth  Oakford,  with  pistol  leveled  at  Jack  Brawdy. 

"Move  another  step,  and  you're  a  dead  man!" 
she  shouted,  with  her  incisive,  imperious  voice,  keyed 
up  to  its  highest  tension. 

The  light  shone  upon  her  face.  Her  lips  were 
compressed,  her  eyes  were  flashing,  her  hand  was 
steady,  and  her  aim  was  at  Brawdy's  heart. 


552  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

He  stopped  in  his  tracks,  and  the  advance  of  the 
column  was  checked.  The  Sheriff  might  have  been 
playing  at  bluff,  but  this  woman  was  not.  Jake 
Brawdy  knew  that  if  he  moved  another  pace  she  would 
send  a  bullet  whirling  through  his  heart.  What  could 
be  done?  Either  the  mob  must  kill  this  woman  or 
falter  in  their  undertaking.  If  they  faltered,  the  back 
bone  of  the  enterprise  was  broken.  Suddenly  the 
column  wavered.  Then  Holly,  losing  all  control  of 
himself,  and  knowing  that  if  the.  mob  should  fall  back 
now  they  would  not  rally  again  to  the  attack,  rushed 
forward. 

"Clear  the  way!"  he  cried.  "I'll  kill  the  she- 
devil!" 

"Stand  back!"  she  cried,  leveling  her  pistol  now 
at  Holly.  He  heeded  not  her  command.  He  fired. 
Some  one  struck  his  arm,  and  the  ball  was  flattened 
against  the  stone  wall  of  the  jail.  Elizabeth  stood 
there,  undaunted  and  unmoved.  Not  a  muscle  quiv 
ered.  Her  hand  was  as  steady  as  before.  Her  pistol 
was  pointed  at  Holly's  heart.  The  crowd  recoiled  with 
horror.  They  were  not  yet  prepared  for  the  massacre 
of  a  woman.  For  a  moment  all  was  silent  as  the  grave. 
Then  from  the  rear  there  came  a  murmur  of  applause ; 
then  a  mighty  shout  of  applause ;  and  it  was  known 
that  Huntington  was  safe,  and  that  the  dauntless 
woman  had  won  the  day  without  a  drop  of  blood. 

The  deputies  came  forth,  and  arrested  Holly, 
Brawdy,  Shoorshot  and  Light-fingered  Bill,  the  crowd, 
now  thoroughly  demoralized,  making  no  resistance, 
and  escorted  each  of  these  gentlemen  to  a  cell,  where 
he  had  an  opportunity  for  reflection  on  the  poor  suc 
cess  of  his  efforts  to  vindicate  the  law.  Deprived  of 
their  leaders,  the  mob  dissolved.  Inside  of  two  hours 
quiet  reigned  about  the  jail,  and  the  streets  and  alleys 
of  Wellington  were  deserted.  James  carried  the  glad 
tidings  home  to  his  sister ;  while  Elizabeth  returned  to 
Joe  Jimson's,  there  to  watch  at  the  bedside  of  the  dying 
drunkard. 


CONQUERING    A    MOB.  553 

The  next  day  William  Huntington  was  removed 
from  Wellington,  and  lodged  in  the  jail  of  an  adjoining 
county,  there  to  remain  during  the  few  days  yet  to 
elapse  before  the  beginning  of  the  October  term  of 
court. 

The  Invincible  Lance  gave  a  detailed  account  of 
these  events  in  its  next  issue.  Some  of  the  headlines, 
which  were  printed  in  large,  staring,  black  letters,  read 
as  follows:  "The  Red-handed  Murderer  of  Henry 
Anderson  in  Custody;  "  "Hemp  Invoked  by  an  Exas 
perated  People;"  "The  Villain  Saved  from  Merited 
Punishment  by  the  Stubborn  Resistance  of  an  Over- 
zealous  Officer." 

"  For  such  an  uprising, "  that  journal  went  on  to 
say,  ' '  the  people  are  hardly  to  be  blamed.  The  mob, 
if  it  be  proper  to  call  an  assemblage  of  representative 
citizens  a  mob,  conducted  themselves  with  the  utmost 
propriety  and  forbearance.  Truly  may  it  be  said  that 
everything  was  done  decently  and  in  order.  Many  of 
our  most  virtuous  citizens  have  gone  so  far  as  to  express 
their  regret  at  the  stubborn  defense  of  the  criminal 
made  by  the  Sheriff.  The  opinion  seems  to  prevail 
that  an  officer  elected  by  the  people  should  not  be  so 
active  in  thwarting  the  wishes  of  the  people. 

' '  The  Sheriff  was  not  satisfied  with  saving  a  mur 
derer  from  a  righteous  punishment,  but  he  went  to  the 
extreme  length  of  arresting  four  of  our  representative 
men  and  lodging  them  in  jail.  Such  an  outrage  will 
not  be  suffered  to  pass  unchallenged  in  our  courts. 
Sheriff  Hazelbrush  will  probably  awake  to  find  himself 
defendant  in  several  suits  for  false  imprisonment. 
Messrs.  Squabble,  Wriggle  &  Dabble  and  the  State's 
attorney  have  expressed  the  opinion  that  he  is  clearly 
liable. 

"  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  no  grand  jury  will  indict  the 
gentlemen  who  were  arrested.  They  are  not  criminals 
in  any  sense  of  the  word,  but  law-abiding  men,  ani 
mated  with  a  burning  desire  for  the  public  weal. 
Even  if  they  were  over-zealous,  the  law's  delay  had 


554  A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

given  them  much  provocation.  The  arrest  of  Harvey 
Holly  was  absolutely  malicious,  as  he  was  engaged  at 
the  time  in  endeavoring  to  head  off  his  indignant  com 
panions,  and  prevent  the  shooting  of  an  Amazon,  and 
his  own  pistol  was  accidentally  discharged." 

After  these  incidents  had  been  duly  paraded  before 
the  public,  in  all  sorts  of  costumes,  by  the  secular  press, 
the  religious  newspapers  began  to  think  that  herein 
was  a  fertile  text  for  the  indiscriminate  abuse  of  lawyers 
and  courts,  and  the  praise  of  those  exemplary  citizens 
who  administer  lynch  law.  The  law's  delay  furnished 
material  for  many  a  racy  paragraph.  The  mob  was 
kindly  patted  on  the  back  till  it  must  have  arched  its 
back,  and  commenced  to  purr,  and  imagined  itself  the 
greatest  machine  of  the  age  for  the  enforcement  of 
the  law. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

ONE    SIDE    OF   THE    CASE. 

The  criminal  docket  was  set  for  the  first  Monday  of 
the  second  week  of  the  October  term.  Judge  Snapper 
was  on  the  bench,  and  before  him  was  a  large  and  noisy 
crowd.  Every  seat  was  occupied,  and  the  standing 
room  in  the  aisles  appropriated.  The  trial  of  William 
Huntington,  prosecuted  under  the  name  of  William 
Manning,  would  have  drawn  a  full  house  if  an  admis 
sion  fee  had  been  charged,  to  say  nothing  of  the  great 
number  ready  to  take  advantage  of  an  opportunity  to 
attend  this  extraordinary  free  entertainment.  For  ex 
traordinary  this  trial  promised  to  be.  The  charge  was 
murder,  and  the  penalty,  if  the  defendant  should  be 
convicted,  would  probably  be  death.  The  lawyers  en 
gaged  were  men  of  no  mean  ability.  On  the  part  of 
the  people  appeared  the  State's  attorney  and  those 
eminent  gentlemen,  Messrs.  Squabble,  Wriggle  and 
Dabble.  This  was  an  array  of  talent  seldom  found 
engaged  for  the  prosecution.  Billy  Johnson,  who  had 
been  Sawtheaire's  predecessor,  and  was  a  very  good 
lawyer,  appeared  for  the  defense.  But  it  was  reported 
that  the  leading  counsel  for  the  defense  was  an  attorney 
named  Hartman,  from  Buffalo,  New  York.  It  was 
generally  conceded  that  a  man  in  Manning's  desperate 
condition  would  hardly  go  to  trial  without  the  assistance 
of  the  ablest  counsel  he  could  command.  Therefore 
the  people  were  wrought  up  to  the  highest  pitch  of 
expectation,  and  crowded  into  the  court-room  for  the 
enjoyment  of  the  rare  entertainment  this  professional 
contest  was  likely  to  afford.  There  was  a  widespread 
desire  to  see  the  prisoner — to  witness  his  demeanor, 
and  to  be  on  the  qui  vive  fer  any  sensational  develop 
ment  during  the  trial ;  also  to  see  what  manner  of 
creatures  the  prisoner's  step-father  and  half-sister  were, 


A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

inasfnuch  as  it  was  rumored  that  they  had  come  to  attend 
the  trial,  and  render  all  the  assistance  in  their  power. 

When  court  convened  at  one  o'clock  in  the  after 
noon,  with  Judge  Snapper,  duly  sober  and  exceedingly 
solemn,  on  the  bench,  all  conversation  ceased,  and  a 
portentous  silence  reigned  throughout  the  court-room. 
Men  and  women  (for  the  bar  was  crowded  with  women) 
were  too  intensely  interested  to  be  guilty  of  any  breach 
of  decorum  at  this  time.  Messrs.  Squabble,  Wriggle 
and  Dabble  were  in  earnest  consultation  over  a  lengthy 
legal  document  which  they  seemed  to  be  examining, 
while  Paul  Hartman  and  Billy  Johnson  sat  quietly  at 
the  table  assigned  to  the  defendant's  counsel.  Hartman 
appeared  cool,  collected  and  self-reliant,  and  but  for 
the  quick,  restless  glances  of  his  eyes,  which  were 
making  a  note  of  every  movement  of  the  opposition, 
would  have  been  deemed  an  uninterested  spectator. 

Presently  there  was  a  commotion  at  the  door,  and 
the  Sheriff  was  heard  commanding  the  crowd  in  the 
aisle  to  open  a  way  for  the  ladies  to  pass.  With 
difficulty  the  way  was  opened,  and  Mrs.  Anderson 
and  Katie,  escorted  by  James,  were  shown  to  the  chairs 
provided  for  them  near  the  attorneys  for  the  people. 
They  had  been  subpoenaed  as  witnesses  for  the  people, 
and  were  naturally  supposed  to  be  among  the  staunch- 
est  supporters  of  the  prosecution.  Mrs.  Anderson  was 
dressed  in  black,  and  did  not  raise  the  veil  from  her 
face.  Katie  was  modestly  attired.  Her  cheek  was 
pale  and  her  eye  was  heavy ;  for  she  had  suffered  dur 
ing  the  past  few  days  as  only  a  loving  heart  can  suffer. 
She  had  been  forced  to  appear  in  the  role  of  a  witness 
against  the  one  she  loved  better  than  her  own  life ;  and 
now,  in  deference  to  her  father's  memory,  she  was  ex 
pected  to  manifest  no  feeling  of  sympathy  for  the  man 
on  trial,  though  he  had  once  been  her  accepted  lover. 
She  sat  motionless,  looking  down  at  her  hands.  Soon 
after  she  had  taken  her  seat  there  was  further  disturb 
ance  at  the  door,  and  a  murmur  of  voices  throughout 
the  room.  Her  cheek  blanched,  her  lips  trembled,  and 


ONE    SIDE    OF    THE    CASE.  557 

every  object  seemed  to  swim  before  her  eyes.  Her 
heart  throbbed  painfully,  and  her  breathing  became 
labored.  She  knew  her  lover  was  entering  the  room  in 
charge  of  the  Sheriff  and  his  guard. 

The  bailiffs  pounded  on  their  tables,  and  cried  out 
"Silence!"  A  way  was  opened  through  the  crowd, 
and  the  defendant,  accompanied  by  the  guards,  and 
followed  by  his  step-father  and  sister,  entered  the 
bar,  and  was  seated  at  the  side  of  his  attorneys. 
With  mouths  wide  open  the  spectators  stared  at  the 
group,  hoping  to  assist  their  vision  with  their  throats. 
What  a  stately,  noble  looking  gentleman  was  Dr. 
Lowell !  His  appearance  won  the  interest  of  all  present. 
And  what  a  sweet  looking  girl  was  the  sister !  It  is 
certain  that  such  a  support  added  some  strength  to 
the  case  of  the  defendant. 

Mr.  Hartman  arose,  took  his  client  by  the  hand, 
aud  whispered  to  him  some  words  of  encouragement; 
after  which  he  bowed  courteously  to  Dr.  Lowell,  spoke 
pleasantly  to  Bessie,  and  then  walked  over  to  the  place 
where  James  was  sitting,  and  spoke  to  him,  and  asked 
the  favor  of  an  introduction  to  his  mother  and  sister. 
This  favor  was  granted  because  it  could  not  well  be  re 
fused.  Mrs.  Anderson  bowed  rather  stiffly,  but  Katie 
was  more  cordial.  In  her  soul  she  was  praying  that 
God  would  bless  and  strengthen  him,  and  give  him  the 
victory  for  her  lover's  sake.  But  she  dared  not  look  at 
William  Huntington ;  and  he  was  sensible  enough  to  un 
derstand  the  constraint  the  poor  girl  was  under  from  the 
dual  attitude  of  her  situation — favorable  to  the  prose 
cution  in  the  eyes  of  the  bystanders,  but  really  more 
intensely  interested  and  enlisted  on  the  side  of  the 
defense  than  even  the  prisoner  himself. 

But  why  this  delay?  There  seemed  to  be  no  occa 
sion  for  it.  And  yet  something  seemed  to  be  lacking. 
The  crowd  in  the  aisle  separated  again,  and  a  passage 
way  was  once  more  opened  up.  But  without  command 
of  sheriff  this  time ;  without  rapping,  without  bawl 
ing,  without  show  of  authority,  quietly  and  natu- 


558  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

rally,  as  that  earnest,  loyal  woman,  who  had  defied  and 
conquered  the  mob,  entered  the  court-room  and  sat 
down  by  the  side  of  Bessie  Lowell.  She  and  Mr. 
Hartman  had  evidently  met  before,  for  they  greeted 
each  other  warmly.  Mr.  Dabble  rushed  toward  her, 
with  a  bland  expression  of  countenance  and  outstretched 
hand,  and  suggested  that  there  should  be  no  ill-feeling 
between  her  and  himself  simply  because  they  happened 
to  be  on  opposite  sides  of  a  lawsuit.  Judge  Snapper, 
attracted  by  the  woman's  appearance  and  demeanor, 
took  out  his  glasses,  put  them  astride  his  nose,  and 
surveyed  her  long  and  earnestly,  whereupon  he  beck 
oned  to  the  Sheriff,  and  inquired  the  name  of  the 
distinguished  looking  lady.  "Elizabeth  Oakford, " 
whispered  the  Sheriff.  "The  woman  who  quelled  the 
mob?"  asked  the  Judge.  "The  same  woman,"  was 
the  answer.  "Ah!"  said  the  Judge,  "she  looks  as 
delicate  and  gentle  as  a  princess."  Then  he  surveyed 
her  again.  "This  is  the  crusader,"  he  thought. 
' '  Indeed !  If  she  had  her  way  old  Snapper  would 
never  have  another  drop — not  a  single  drop.  Humph ! 
America  would  be  as  hopelessly  dry  as  an  African 
desert !  The  Fates  forefend !  And  she  can  pull  a 
trigger,  and  shoot  with  the  certainty  of  good  old  Dan'l 
Boone?  Gracious!  Who  would  have  thought  it? 
But  I  like  the  woman's  looks.  I  '11  be  bound  she  's  a 
trump ! "  By  which  latter  expression  the  learned 
Judge  dealt  in  a  figure  of  speech  which  was  forcible, 
to  say  the  least,  and  from  which  we  may  gather,  in  a 
general  way,  that  he  was  pleased  with  Elizabeth's 
appearance. 

Now  the  Judge  began  to  call  the  docket  with  great 
energy.  Some  of  the  cases  were  stricken  from  the 
docket,  others  continued,  and  others  passed  by  agree 
ment  of  parties. 

"The  People  against  William  Manning,  indictment 
for  murder,"  cried  the  Judge.  The  reader  will  remem 
ber  that  by  the  name  of  Manning  the  defendant  had 
been  indicted.  Under  that  name  he  was  tried, 


ONE    SIDE   OF    THE    CASE.  5 $9 

"We  are  ready  on  the  part  of  the  defense,"  said 
Mr.  Hartman,  in  a  clear,  mellow  voice,  rising  and  bow 
ing  to  the  court. 

"You  had  better  wait  till  you  hear  from  the  people, " 
said  the  Judge,  pettishly. 

"I  beg  your  honor's  pardon,"  said  Mr.  Hartman, 
with  unruffled  temper,  standing  by  his  client  and 
watching  opposing  counsel.  Mr.  Hartman  knew,  as 
well  as  the  Judge  did,  that  he  would  not  be  required  to 
answer  till  the  people  had  announced  that  they  were 
ready.  But  the  defendant  was  not  seeking  for  delay ; 
his  attorneys  were  anxious  for  the  spectators  to  know 
this.  Mr.  Hartman  answered  the  court  mildly,  as  if 
the  criticism  was  just,  that  he  might  conciliate  Judge 
Snapper.  He  did  net  intend  to  harm  his  case  by  an 
ill-timed  and  unprofitable  controversy  with  the  court. 

"Very  well,"  said  the  Judge,  somewhat  mollified. 
"The  court  meant  no  offense."     Then    he  addressed 
the  State's  attorney:    "Are  you  ready  on  the  part  of 
the  people?" 

' '  I  regret  to  say,  your  honor,  that  we  are  not 
ready.  Two  of  our  most  important  witnesses  are 
absent.  If  the  court  can  pass  this  case  till  to-morrow 
we  may  be  able  to  get  them  in  on  attachments.  They 
have  been  subpoenaed,  I  believe,  but  for  some  myste 
rious  reason,  which,  it  is  my  opinion,  the  defense 
might  explain,  they  are  not  here." 

' '  The  court  can  not  pass  this  case,  Mr.  Sawtheaire. 
This  room  is  filled  with  witnesses,  who  are  here  at  an 
enormous  expense  to  the  people — an  enormous  expense, 
Mr.  Sawtheaire.  Other  criminal  cases  are  pressing  for 
trial.  This  case  must  take  the  usual  course.  Has  the 
defendant  been  arraigned?  " 

"  He  has,  your  honor." 
'Then  call  a  jury,  Mr.  Clerk." 

"If  the  court  please,"  said  Mr.  Sawtheaire,  "we 
shall  have  to  enter  a  motion  for  a  continuance  on  the 
part  of  the  people.  I  regret  to  be  forced  to  make  this 
motion.  I  intend  to  insist  on  an  inquiry,  at  the  proper 


560  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

time,  into  the  cause  of  the  absence  of  these  witnesses. 
I  apprehend  that  if  they  were  here  the  defense  would 
not  be  so  anxious  for  a  trial." 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  that,"  said  the 
court.  "I  know  I  must  get  along  with  the  business 
of  the  term.  This  case  is  now  called  for  trial.  Some 
thing  must  be  done  immediately.  The  expense  of 
courts  must  be  curtailed.  Taxes  are  burdensome  to 
the  people.  Call  a  jury,  Mr.  Clerk." 

Judge  Snapper  glanced  at  the  crowd  to  note  the 
effect  of  his  speech  on  economy,  and  was  pleased  to 
observe  many  commendatory  shakes  of  the  head  from 
influential  auditors. 

"We  move  for  a  continuance,"  said  Sawtheaire, 
"and  ask  for  a  reasonable  time  in  which  to  prepare 
our  showing." 

"  I  '11  tolerate  no  more  delay,"  cried  the  Judge,  his 
face  flushing.  "Every  hour's  delay  is  robbery  of  the 
county.  Your  showing  should  be  ready,  if  you  want 
to  present  a  showing.  If  it  is  n't  ready,  I  propose  to 
proceed  with  this  trial  at  once." 

"Very  well,"  said  Sawtheaire,  decidedly  out  of 
humor.  "Here  is  the  affidavit.  I  wanted  to  look 
over  it  again,  and  submit  it  to  associate  counsel ;  but 
if  I  can  't  have  the  time,  let  it  be  filed  at  once  as  it  is." 
So  saying,  he  delivered  the  affidavit  to  the  clerk. 

Notwithstanding  the  insinuation  of  Lyman  Sawthe 
aire  against  the  defendant  and  his  attorneys  during  the 
foregoing  colloquy,  Hartman  remained  as  cool  and  un 
disturbed  as  ever.  His  German  blood  was  not  to  be 
thrown  into  a  fever  by  a  few  sharp  words.  His  asso 
ciate,  Billy  Johnson,  whose  Kentucky  blood  was  easily 
accelerated,  kept  rolling  his  eyes  around  with  a  dan 
gerous  glare,  first  at  Sawtheaire,  and  then  at  Messrs. 
Squabble,  Wriggle  and  Dabble  ;  but  profiting  finally 
by  the  imperturbability  of  Hartman's  temper,  he  suc 
ceeded  in  restraining  his  own  fiery  impetuosity. 

This  preliminary  skirmish  resulted  to  the  advantage 
of  the  defendant.  The  Judge  became  slightly  ruffled 


ONE    SIDE    OF    THE    CASE.  561 

because  of  the  delay  on  the  part  of  the  people.  The 
crowd  were  now  quaking  with  anxiety  lest  the  case 
should  be  continued  and  their  entertainment  postponed, 
and  were  blaming  Sawtheaire  for  his  dilatoriness,  and 
half-way  praising  Hartman  for  his  readiness  for  the 
fray.  Sawtheaire  himself  was  keenly  sensible  of  the 
situation,  but  he  was  determined  the  case  should  be 
continued,  if  possible.  There  might  be  more  danger 
to  him  from  an  immediate  trial  than  loss  of  popularity 
from  a  continuance  of  the  case  at  his  instance.  So  he 
read  his  affidavit  in  a  distinct,  unfaltering  voice.  The 
grounds  alleged  in  support  of  his  motion  were  the  ab 
sence  of  Nick  Barker;  the  stable  boy,  who  had  taken 
the  horse  to  William  Manning's  office  on  the  night  of 
the  murder,  and  of  Jolly  Bidson,  the  fisherman,  who  had, 
that  same  night,  rowed  the  defendant  across  the  river. 
It  was  alleged  that  these  witnesses  had  been  duly  sub 
poenaed,  and  were  absent  without  the  connivance  of 
the  people's  attorneys,  etc.,  etc.  The  facts  to  be 
proved  by  Barker  and  Bidson  were  set  forth  in  detail, 
and  were  certainly,  when  unexplained,  and  in  connec 
tion  with  the  other  evidence,  of  a  highly  criminating 
character.  The  affidavit  contained  all  necessary  formal 
allegations.  The  Judge  announced  that,  much  as  he 
regretted  the  fact,  the  case  must  be  continued,  under 
this  showing. 

"Your  honor,"  said  Mr.  Hartman,  earnestly, 
"our  client  is  here  under  a  charge  of  murder.  He 
demands  a  trial  now.  If  he  is  guilty  of  this  most 
fiendish  crime,  the  sooner  he  is  hanged,  the  better  for 
all  concerned.  If  he  is  innocent,  he  should  not  be 
forced  to  rest  under  the  damning  effect  of  this  charge  a 
single  day  longer  than  is  absolutely  necessary.  A  con 
tinuance  will  entail  great  hardship  upon  him.  His 
father  and  sister  are  here  at  considerable  expense,  and 
another  trip  will  double  that  expense.  But  worse  than 
all,  if  in  this  case  it  should  be  said  by  the  court,  on 
.application  of  the  defendant  to  be  admitted  to  bail, 
that  the  proof  is  evident  and  the  presumption  great, 


562  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

our  client  would  be  denied  bail,  and  would  be  forced  to 
lie  in  jail  till  the  next  term  of  court,  waiting  for  an 
opportunity  to  prove  his  innocence.  That  we  are  ready 
to  do  now.  We  do  most  earnestly  beg  this  court  for  an 
immediate  trial.  We  do  believe  these  witnesses  would 
have  been  here  if  the  State's  attorney  had  been  very 
anxious  to  have  them  here,  and  we  have  reason  for 
making  this  statement.'1 

"The  gentleman's  insinuations  will  do  me  no  harm 
among  my  friends  and  neighbors,"  said  the  State's  at 
torney  with  a  flourish.  "We  insist  that  our  affidavit 
is  sufficient.  We  expect  to  show  at  the  proper  time 
that  these  witnesses  have  been  run  off  by  the  defend 
ant  or  his  attorneys.  The  court  will  see  that  there  is 
merit  in  our  application." 

Billy  Johnson  arose  at  these  words,  his  face  grow 
ing  purple  with  anger,  but  Mr.  Hartman  put  his  hand 
on  the  irate  gentleman's  shoulder,  and  whispered 
something  in  his  ear,  and  thereupon  Billy  reluctantly 
sat  down. 

"Whatever  the    hardship,  Mr.  Hartman,  the  case 
will  have  to  be  continued,"  said  the  court,  "unless you. 
see  fit  to  admit  the  truth  of  the  affidavit." 

"  Which  means  in  Illinois,"  said  Mr.  Hartman  in  a 
tone  of  inquiry,  "that  we  admit  the  affidavit  to  be 
absolutely  true,  and  will  not  be  permitted  to  contra 
dict  it?"' 

"Certainly,  sir.     I  so  understand  the  law." 

"  I  presume,  your  honor,  that  Barker  and  Bidson 
will  testify  as  stated  in  the  affidavit.  We  could  safely 
admit  their  testimony  to  be  true  in  all  essential  partic 
ulars  ;  but  we  do  not  like  to  try  a  case  by  admitting  as 
evidence  what  somebody  swears  a  witness  will  swear, 
and  at  the  same  time  admitting  the  absolute  truth  of 
this  hearsay  swearing.  We  do  not  expect  to  admit  the 
absolute  truth  of  the  affidavit." 

"  In  which  event  the  case  must  be  continued." 

"  A  moment,  your  honor,"  persisted  Mr.  Hart 
man.  "  My  associate  informs  me  that,  just  before  the 


ONE    SIDE    OF    THE    CASE.  563 

adjournment  on  Saturday,  he  asked  for  attachments  for 
certain  witnesses  in  a  civil  case,  and  attachments  were 
ordered  for  any  witnesses  who  had  been  subpoenaed 
and  had  not  obeyed  the  subpoena.  The  names  of  the 
witnesses  were  not  mentioned  to  your  honor,  as  your 
honor  was  busily  engaged,  and  the  clerk  furnished  my 
associate  with  blank  writs,  signed  and  sealed,  and  these 
were  filled  out  and  put  into  the  hands  of  a  certain  offi 
cer  to  be  served.  Mr.  Johnson  had  received  informa 
tion  to  the  effect  that  Barker  and  Bidson  would  not  be 
here  when  wanted,  and  that  this  case  would  be  con 
tinued  because  of  their  absence.  He  had  the  gentle 
men  subpoenaed  in  one  of  his  civil  cases,  and  afterwards 
procured  these  attachments  for  them.  It  is  possible 
they  are  in  the  court-room  now." 

"  Gentlemen,  this  is  an  abuse  of  the  process  of  .the 
court,"  said  Judge  Snapper,  his  eyes  twinkling  never 
theless. 

"If  it  is,  we  submit  to  the  punishment,"  said  Mr, 
Hartman. 

By  this  time  Squabble  and  Sawtheaire  were  en 
gaged  in  a  hurried,  flurried  conversation,  Wriggle  was 
on  his  feet  twirling  his  cane  and  casting  a  deprecatory 
look  at  the  court,  and  Dabble  was  flying  about  in  the 
court-room,  searching  for  the  bodies  of  Barker  and 
Bidson. 

"Call  them,"  said  the  court. 

"Are  Nick  Barker  and  Jolly  Bidson  here?"  in 
quired  Mr.  Hartman  in  his  smoothest  tones,  turning 
towards  the  crowd  as  he  spoke. 

"They  are!"  shouted  Peter  Halbertson,  constable 
from  Moberly  and  one  of  the  Sheriff's  deputies,  to 
whom  the  attachments  had  been  delivered  for  service. 
The  constable  came  forward  from  the  farther  end  oi 
the  room,  with  the  two  would-be  absentees  at  his 
heels. 

For  the  first  time  in  man.y  years,  Sawtheaire  lost 
control  of  himself.  He  turned  red  and  then  white. 
His  fingers  twitched.  He  looked  at  Mr.  Hartman 


564  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

with  an  expression  of  deadliest  hatred.  Wriggle  sank 
into  his  chair,  and  Dabble  flew  to  the  bucket  for  a 
drink  of  water.  Squabble  straightened  up  pompously, 
and  indignantly  roared  out:  "This  is  an  ungentle- 
manly  and  unprofessional  trick !  No  honest  lawyer  at 
this  bar  has  ever  resorted  to  such  devices  to  clear  a 
scoundrel.  But  what  else  can  be  expected  of  a  flat- 
footed  Dutchman?" 

"I  want  no  personal  controversy  with  you  now, 
sir,"  said  Mr.  Hartman  coolly,  facing  Mr.  Squabble 
with  an  air  which  plainly  indicated  that  the  latter  had 
said  enough  on  the  subject.  And  so  Squabble  himself 
must  have  thought,  for  he  said  no  more.  It  may  have 
been  that  the  muscular  form  of  Billy  Johnson,  who 
had  advanced  within  striking  distance,  assisted  in  un 
nerving  the  professional  bully.  The  attorneys  for  the 
prosecution,  who  had  been  inclined  to  look  with  con 
tempt  on  the  foreign  interloper,  were  now  convinced 
that  he  fought  with  a  Damascus  blade,  and  was  skilled 
in  the  use  of  his  weapon. 

"We  are  ready  for  trial,  if  the  court  please," 
gently  insisted  Mr.  Hartman. 

"The  motion  for  continuance  will  be  overruled," 
said  the  Judge  emphatically.  "  Mr.  Sheriff,  take  these 
two  witnesses  into  your  custody.  I  '11  inquire  into  their 
cases  when  I  have  leisure.  Call  a  jury,  Mr.  Glerk. " 

A  smile  of  triumph  lighted  up  the  face  of  Paul 
Hartman  as  he  turned  and  spoke  a  few  words  to 
Elizabeth,  who  seemed  fairly  captivated  with  the  man 
ner  in  which  this  first  victory  had  been  won.  The  de 
fendant  and  his  friends  felt  encouraged,  and  looked 
forward  with  great  confidence  to  the  end  of  the  strug 
gle.  Katie  stole  a  timid  glance  at  William  Huntington. 
She  tried  not  to  do  so;  but  she  couldn't  help  it. 
Strange  to  say,  he  happened  to  be  looking  at  her  at 
that  very  moment.  And  so  their  eyes  met  with  an  in 
terchange  of  tell-tale  love  glances,  and  Katie  hastened 
to  look  in  some  other  direction,  to  show  how  utterly 
unconcerned  she  was.  At  about  the  same  time  James 


ONE   SIDE   OF   THE   CASE.  565 

fixed  his  optics  on  Bessie,  with  the  mental  affirmation 
that  if  such  girls  were  indigenous  to  the  Empire  State 
he  would  seek  a  home  there  at  an  early  day. 

The  attorneys  for  the  people  were  decidedly  angry 
as  they  took  their  places  at  the  trial  table.  One  of 
them,  the  State's  attorney,  was  decidedly  alarmed. 
So  was  August  Holly,  who  was  standing  against  the 
wall.  So  was  Mayor  Trinkenviellager,  who  was  vigor 
ously  fanning  his  hot,  fat  face. 

Mr.  Hartman  had  evidently  won  the  favor  of  a 
large  part  of  the  crowd ;  for  a  crowd  always  admires 
and  takes  sides  with  a  consummate  master  of  his  art, 
profession  or  business.  If  the  attorney  could  succeed 
in  gaining  the  admiration  and  sympathy  of  the  crowd 
for  himself,  he  would  break  down,  at  the  same  time, 
their  prejudices  against  his  client. 

Counsel  entered  upon  the  trial  of  this,  the  most 
important  case  which  had  ever  been  tried  in  the  county, 
with  that  feeling  of  anxiety  and  trepidation  always  ex 
perienced  by  good  lawyers  under  such  circumstances. 
A  good  lawyer  puts  himself  in  the  place  of  his  client, 
and  bears  the  whole  weight  of  the  situation.  He  prob 
ably  displays  some  signs  of  nervousness  at  the  com 
mencement  of  a  trial.  Forty  years  of  practice  and 
any  amount  of  natural  and  acquired  boldness  are  not 
sufficient  to  overcome  this  feeling.  It  is  not  that  he  is 
frightened,  but  that  he  is  overwhelmed  with  a  sense  of 
grave  responsibility — a  feeling  that  the  life  of  a  fellow- 
being,  or  his  dearest  interests,  may  depend  upon  the 
manner  in  which  his  trial  is  conducted  by  his  attorney, 
and  that  even  tjie  slightest  blunder  may  result  in  ir 
retrievable  disaster.  The  attorneys  in  this  case  ex 
perienced  the  anxieties  common  to  the  profession,  and 
in  addition  thereto,  a  weight  of  interest  arising  from 
personal  considerations.  Sawtheaire  was  particularly 
concerned,  not  knowing  what  the  line  of  the  defense 
was  to  be,  or  what  startling  disclosures  might  be  made 
in  the  progress  of  the  trial,  and  knowing  that  there 
was  a  possibility  of  ruin  for  himself  before  the  close  of 


566  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

the  investigation.  Messrs.  Squabble,  Wriggle  and 
Dabble  entertained  for  the  defendant  a  deep-seated 
hatred,  arising  from  differences  and  collisions  in  the 
trial  of  cases  in  the  past,  which  added  very  materially 
to  their  interest  in  the  prosecution  of  the  case.  Paul 
Hartman,  on  his  part,  was  seeking  to  save  a  dearly 
loved  friend  from  death,  and  he  felt  an  interest  in  the 
case  akin  to  that  of  the  defendant  himself.  His  as 
sociate  felt  only  the  concern  of  an  attorney,  but  that, 
in  one  of  Billy  Johnson's  temperament,  was  always 
deep  and  earnest. 

The  progress  of  the  trial  was  impeded  by  the  diffi 
culty  with  which  a  jury  was  impaneled.  The  case  had 
attracted  the  attention  of  the  people  generally  through 
out  the  county.  Men  had  heard  of  it,  had  read  the 
highly  elaborated  accounts  of  it  in  the  newspapers,  had 
canvassed  the  question  of  the  defendant's  guilt  or  in 
nocence  with  their  families  at  the  table  and  around  the 
fireside,  and  with  their  neighbors  at  the  post-office  and 
village  store,  till  a  great  part  of  the  reading  and  gos 
siping  public  had  formed  and  expressed  an  opinion,  and 
were  thereby  incapacitated  for  jurors  in  the  case. 

It  was  noon  on  Wednesday,  the  third  day  of  the 
trial,  before  the  twelfth  man  was  accepted  and  the  jury 
sworn.  Court  was  then  adjourned  till  one  o'clock. 

On  the  convening  of  court  in  the  afternoon,  the 
State's  attorney  made  an  elaborate  statement  of  the 
case,  setting  forth  in  detail  the  facts  and  circumstances 
relied  upon  by  the  people  to  show  the  guilt  of  the  de 
fendant.  On  behalf  6f  the  defendant  Mr.  Hartman 
made  no  detailed  statement.  He  stated  that  the  de 
fendant  had  interposed  a  plea  of  not  guilty,  and  was 
here  now  protesting  his  innocence,  and  demanding  oi 
the  people  that  they  establish  their  accusation  beyond 
a  reasonable  doubt,  which,  it  was  safe  to  affirm,  they 
would  never  be  able  to  do.  This  would  ordinarily  be 
sufficient,  he  said,  and  would  satisfy  most  men  on  trial 
for  crime,  inasmuch  as  no  jury  could  lawfully  convict 
unless  the  defendant  was  proved  guilty  beyond  a 


ONE    SIDE    OF   THE   CASE.  567 

reasonable  doubt.  But  the  accused  in  this  case  was 
not  an  ordinary  man.  He  considered  his  honor  and 
character  as  more  valuable  than  life  itself.  He  was  here 
to  demonstrate  his  innocence,  to  assume  the  burden  of 
proof,  contrary  to  all  precedents,  and  undertake  to 
show  his  innocence  beyond  a  reasonable  doubt,  yes, 
beyond  any  kind  of  doubt  whatsoever,  and  would  ask 
no  verdict  of  acquittal  unless  he  could  go  forth  from 
the  court-room  with  his  character  redeemed  from  every 
insinuation  of  evil.  In  closing  his  statement,  Mr. 
Hartman  requested  the  jury  to  give  their  careful  atten 
tion  to  all  the  evidence,  and  begged  them  not  to  make 
up  their  minds  till  they  had  heard  the  evidence  on  both 
sides,  as  well  as  the  arguments  of  the  counsel  and  the 
instructions  of  the  court. 

The  court  now  ordered  the  people  to  proceed  with 
their  evidence.  Mr.  Squabble  stated  that,  in  the  or 
derly  presentation  of  the  case,  such  evidence  as  would 
show  malice  should  come  first,  and  that,  as  represent 
ing  the  people,  and  against  the  protest  of  the  State's 
attorney,  he  was  compelled  to  ask  Mr.  Sawtheaire  to  be 
sworn  and  to  take  the  stand  as  a  witness.  Mr.  Saw 
theaire  demurred,  but  after  much  apparent  reluctance 
yielded. 

A  paper  was  shown  to  the  witness  and  identified  by 
him.  ' '  The  letter,  as  well  as  the  signature,  is  in  Mr. 
Manning's  handwriting,"  he  said.  This  was  the  letter 
which  Manning  had  written,  but  had  never  mailed,  to 
Henry  Anderson. 

"By  Manning  you  mean  the  defendant  ?"  asked 
Mr.  Squabble. 

At  this  point  Mr.  Hartman  stated  that  no  question 
would  be  raised  as  to  the  name,  and  that  for  the  pur 
poses  of  this  trial  the  defendant  could  be  referred  to  as 
William  Manning. 

"  We  do  not  object  to  the  introduction  of  the  let 
ter/' continued  Mr.  Hartman.  "The  defendant  wrote 
it.  He  does  not  deny  it.  We  are  not  here  to  object 
to  any  evidence  which  under  any  possible  theory  or 


568  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

construction  of  the  law  is  admissible.  We  expect  to 
interpose  but  few,  if  any,  objections.  Let  all  the  facts 
be  made  public,  even  though  some  of  them  may  not 
be  legally  competent.  It  is  true  that  a  feeling  of  hos 
tility  existed  between  the  defendant  and  Henry  Ander 
son,  and  we  are  disposed  to  admit  the  fact  without 
qualification  or  explanation.  The  two  men  did  not  un 
derstand  each  other.  The  cause  of  their  misunder 
standings  need  not  be  inquired  into  here.  Explana 
tions  would  not  aid  in  the  trial  of  this  case,  and  would 
be  unpleasant  to  the  family  of  the  deceased,  and  we 
are  desirous  of  sparing  that  family  all  unnecessary 
pain." 

"Then  you  admit  that  ill-feeling  existed,  without 
further  proof  of  it?"  inquired  the  Judge. 

"We  do." 

"Very  well.     What  next,  Mr.  Squabble ? " 

"  That  is  all  with  the  witness  on  the  question  of 
motive.  We  want  to  call  him  hereafter  on  another 
point." 

"That  I  can  not  permit,"  said  the  Judge.  "You 
must  get  through  with  this  witness  now ;  you  will  not 
be  permitted  to  recall  him." 

"Very  well,  then.  You  may  state,  Mr.  Sawthe- 
aire,  what  you  know  about  the  finding  of  Henry  An 
derson  on  the  night  of  the  murder,  and  anything  you 
may  know  pointing  to  the  defendant  as  the  guilty 
party." 

' '  On  the  evening  of  the  murder  I  was  on  the  side 
walk  in  front  of  Mr.  Manning's  office.  I  had  been 
walking  about  the  streets  for  some  time,  interviewing 
my  friends  concerning  the  approaching  election,  in 
which,  as  a  candidate,  I  was  then  very  much  interested. 
1  saw  William  Manning  come  down  from  his  office.  I 
spoke  to  him,  but  he  took  no  notice  of  me — in  fact,  did 
not  seem  to  hear  me.  He  appeared  excited  and  flur 
ried.  He  had  a  valise  in  his  hand,  and  I  remember  dis 
tinctly  of  seeing  his  cane  in  his  hand — the  same  that 
will  be  in  evidence  in  this  case,  and  which  was  found 


ONE   SIDE   OF   THE    CASE. 

in  the  road  where  the  deed  was  done.  He  went  across 
the  street  to  the  hitch-rack,  untied  a  horse  which  was 
fastened  there,  and  mounted  and  rode  away  towards 
the  south.  The  last  I  saw  of  him  he  was  going  in  the 
direction  one  would  take  to  go  to  the  place  where  the 
murder  was  committed. 

' '  I  remained  about  the  streets  most  of  the  time  till 
the  places  of  business  were  closed  and  the  loafers  and 
stragglers  went  home,  and  then  I  went  to  my  office  and 
worked  for  some  time  on  a  bill  in  chancery  which  I  was 
anxious  to  file  the  next  day.  I  suppose  I  must  have 
worked  till  one  or  two  o'clock.  I  blew  out  my  light, 
locked  my  office,  and  went  down  on  the  street  to  cool 
off.  It  was  delightful  out  of  doors,  and  I  was  wide 
awake.  So  I  strolled  aimlessly  towards  the  east  part 
of  town,  thinking  all  the  while  about  my  business,  and 
hardly  thinking  where  I  was  going.  When  in  front  of 
Henry  Anderson's  house,  I  saw  a  dark  object  which 
turned  out  to  be  his  horse,  saddled  and  bridled,  stand 
ing  there  unfastened.  There  was  no  light  in  the  house. 
I  tried  to  rouse  the  household.  James  came  to  the  door. 
By  the  light  of  a  lantern  we  examined  the  horse.  There 
was  a  spot  of  blood  on  its  neck,  and  another  on  the 
saddle.  I  suppose  it  would  not  be  proper  for  me  to 
tell  what  was  said  ?  I  will  pass  on,  then.  A  party  was 
organized,  a  team  and  wagon  procured,  and  we  started 
immediately  along  the  road  leading  to  the  swamp  south 
of  Wellington,  as  this  was  the  road  supposed  to  have 
been  taken  by  Mr.  Anderson.  We  searched  the  rodd 
carefully  as  we  went  along.  When  we  came  to  the 
swamp,  we  undertook  to  make  our  search  more  thor 
ough.  There  in  the  road  we  found  a  cane,  the  same 
cane  already  mentioned.  It  was  Manning's.  I  had  seen 
him  carry  it  hundreds  of  times." 

"Is  this  the  cane?"  asked  Mr.  Squabble,  showing 
the  cane  to  the  witness.  The  witness  answered,  "  Yes," 
and  then  continued : 

"Suddenly  a  noise  like  a  groan  arrested  our  atten 
tion.  Going  in  the  direction  of  the  sound,  we  beheld 


57O  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

by  our  dim  lantern -light  a  most  piteous  spectacle. 
Henry  Anderson,  insensible,  dying,  lay  before  us. 
Near  his  body  were  some  legal  documents,  and  between 
him  and  the  road  was  a  handkerchief." 

The  documents,  handkerchief  and  cane  were  pro 
duced,  and  identified  by  the  witness,  and  admitted  in 
evidence  without  objection.  The  handkerchief  was 
shown  to  the  jury,  and  their  attention  called  to"  the  name 
of  the  defendant  in  the  corner,  and  the  documents 
were  admitted  to  be  in  the  defendant's  handwriting. 

The  witness  then  described  Henry  Anderson's 
wounds,  and  swore  that  these  produced  his  death. 
This  ended  the  examination  in  chief.  Mr.  Hartman 
proceeded  to  cross-examine  the  witness. 

"You  say  that  on  the  night  of  the  murder,  and  a 
short  time  after  dark,  you  saw  the  defendant  come 
down  from  his  office  ?  " 

"I  did,  sir,"  answered  the  witness,  slowly  and 
coolly. 

"What  attracted  your  attention  to  him?" 

"  Several  things.  The  fact  that  he  had  his  cane  and 
valise,  that  he  did  not  speak  to  me  when  I  spoke  to 
him,  that  he  seemed  excited  and  flurried,  that  he 
mounted  his  horse  and  rode  off  south — all  of  these  facts 
attracted  my  attention." 

"There  were  many  others  on  the  street  at  the  time, 
were  there  not?" 

"There  were." 

"Did  he  seem  to  be  trying  to  avoid  being  seen?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know — I  can  't  say  that  he  did." 

"  He  had  that  cane  with  him  ?  " 

"He  did,  sir." 

"  The  cane  was  afterwards  found  in  the  road  where 
the  assault  was  made?" 

"I  have  so  stated,  sir." 

"So  you  have.  And  you  want  this  jury  to  believe 
that  Manning  carried  his  cane  with  his  name  inscribed 
on  it  to  the  scene  of  the  murder,  and  left  it  there  to 
testify  that  he  had  dpne  the  deed?" 


ONE    SIDE    OF    THE    CASE.  57! 

"I  want  the  jury  to  believe  the  facts." 

"  Undoubtedly  you  do.  You  want  them  to  believe 
that  Manning  is  a  fool?" 

"I  protest — "  began  Squabble,  in  a  terrible  voice. 

"Keep  still,  Mr.  Squabble!  Keep  still,  sir!"  said 
the  court.  "Go  on,  Mr.  Hartman." 

"Who  was  the  first  to  find  Mr.  Anderson's  horse 
at  his  front  gate  that  night?" 

' '  Why,  I  suppose  I  was.     I  was  passing  the  house — ' ' 

"When  you  reached  the  swamp,  who  made  the 
suggestion  that  the  road  through  the  swamp,  and  the 
swamp  itself  on  either  side,  should  be  thoroughly 
searched  ?" 

"I  don't  remember." 

"Didn't  you  make  that  suggestion?" 

"Why,  I — I  may  have  done  so.  I  wouldn't  say  I 
didn't." 

"Who  found  the  cane?" 

"Why,  I  believe — I  believe — " 

' '  Answer  my  question  ;  you  have  already  sworn  to 
the  fact." 

"You  can't  browbeat  me,  Mr.  Hartman,  or  dictate 
my  answers." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  that,  for  I  do  n't  want  to  browbeat 
you.  And  now,  will  you  please  answer  my  question  ?  " 

"Answer  the  question !  "  commanded  the  court. 

"  Well,  as  I  said  before,  I  found  the  cane.  It  was 
near  the  middle  of  the  road — evidently  at  the  point 
where  the  struggle  had  occurred." 

"  Did  n't  you  call  the  attention  of  others  there  to 
the  fact  that  Manning's  name  was  on  the  cane?" 

''-If  I  did,  it  was  true." 

"Certainly;  there  is  no  doubt  of  that.  But  please 
answer  my  question." 

"  All  right,  sir.     I  think  I  did." 

"Who  first  mentioned  hearing  a  noise,  as  of  some 
one  groaning?" 

"You  don't  expect  me  to  remember  everything 
that  occurred,  do  you  ?  " 


572  A  SIJBTLE!  ADVERSARY. 

' '  I  expect  you  to  remember  this.  If  your  memory 
fails  you,  we  can  prove  it  by  those  who  were  with  you. 
Will  you  answer?" 

' '  Well,  then,  here  it  is.  I  may  have  mentioned 
the  matter.  In  fact,  I  think  I  did." 

1 '  Who  told  the  people  there  to  save  the  cane, 
handkerchief  and  papers?" 

"Now,  then,  Mr.  Hartman,  I  claim  the  right  to 
make  an  explanation.  I  was  expecting  to  be  State's 
attorney,  and  was  interested  in  finding  out  who  had 
committed  this  crime.  I  wanted  to  save  every  piece 
of  criminating  evidence,  and  so  I — " 

"Wait  a  moment,  Mr.  Sawtheaire,"  interrupted 
Mr.  Hartman.  ' '  You  need  not  apologize.  We  are 
not  finding  fault  with  you ;  it  was  proper  to  take  care 
of  everything  found  at  the  scene  of  the  murder.  But 
I  want  you  to  answer  my  question." 

"As  I  was  going  to  say,  I  wanted  this  crime 
brought  to  light;  I  wanted  the  criminal  punished,  and 
I  did  tell  the  people  to  take  care  of  those  very 
things." 

"Exactly;  that  is  all  I  want  on  that  point.  But 
are  you  sure,  Mr.  Sawtheaire,  that  you  wanted  to  see 
the  real  criminal  punished?" 

Mr.  Hartman's  eyes  seemed  to  pierce  Sawtheaire 
through  and  through.  The  witness  moved  about 
uneasily,  and  glanced  restlessly  about  the  room.  Then 
he  said,  almost  fiercely  : 

"Your  question  is  an  insult,  and  I  decline  to 
answer  it." 

"  Very  well ;  you  decline  to  answer.  The  question 
will  not  be  pressed.  Had  you  been  to  the  swamp  that 
night,  before  you  went  there  with  the  crowd  in  search 
of  Henry  Anderson?" 

The  manner  and  tone  of  the  examiner,  which  con 
veyed  an  idea  that  terrible  disclosures  were  to  be  made 
after  a  while,  startled  Sawtheaire  even  more  than  the 
question  itself. 

He  assumed  an  air  of  indignation,  and  said:    "I 


ONE    SIDE    OF    THE    CASE.  573 

refuse  to  answer  such  questions,  and  beg  the  protec 
tion  of  the  court." 

Thereupon  Mr.  Squabble  thundered  forth  his  stento 
rian  "We  object!"  Mr.  Wriggle  arose,  and  mildly 
suggested  that  counsel  could  no  longer  sit  by  and  allow 
a  witness,  and  especially  a  brother  attorney,  to  be 
abused  in  this  way.  He  remarked  that  he  was  sur 
prised  to  find  Mr.  Hartman  so  utterly  regardless  of 
professional  etiquette.  Mr.  Dabble  insisted  that  the 
witness  should  be  treated  fairly.  Mr.  Hartman  an 
swered  that  he  had  had  no  intention  of  exploding  a 
bomb  in  the  camp  of  his  friends ;  that  he  had  asked  a 
very  plain  and  unequivocal  question,  which  was  suscep 
tible  of  being  answered  by  a  plain,  straightforward 
"Yes"  or  "No;"  that  the  witness  had  refused  to 
answer,  and  that  he  was  disposed  to  let  that  refusal 
stand  as  an  answer  to  the  question,  and  to  proceed 
with  a  few  questions  on  other  branches  of  the  case. 
The  cross-examination  was  resumed. 

' '  How  were  you  dressed  when  you  went  to  the 
swamp  on  the  night  of  the  murder?  " 

"  You  refer  to  the  only  time  I  was  there  that  night?  " 

"I  refer  to  any  time  that  night  when  you  were  at 
the  swamp.  If  you  were  there  but  once,  of  course  I 
refer  to  that  time." 

"Well,  I  had  on  pants,  coat,  vest,  boots;  had  on 
a  hat,  I  suppose,  and  a  shirt.  I  was  neither  in  my 
night-clothes  nor  in  female  attire." 

There  was  a  ripple  of  laughter  throughout  the 
court-room. 

"My  question  is  rather  comprehensive,"  admitted 
Mr.  Hartman,  smiling  pleasantly.  "  I  will  narrow  the 
matter  down  to  a  single  point.  Did  you  have  your 
cuffs  on  at  the  time?  " 

"  No,  I  did  not.  When  I  sat  down  in  my  office  to 
work  on  the  bill  in  chancery  mentioned  in  my  direct 
examination,  I  took  off  my  coat  and  cuffs,  and  when  I 
left  my  office  I»put  on  my  coat,  but  forgot  my  cuffs." 

"  Did  you  mention  the  fact  to  any  one  that  night  ?" 


574  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"  Yes,  I  believe  I  did — though  it 's  a  long  time  to 
remember  so  insignificant  a  circumstance.  I  think 
when  James  held  up  the  lantern  and  we  were  examin 
ing  the  horse,  I  noticed  that  I  had  left  my  cuffs  at  the 
office,  and  I  believe  I  mentioned  it,  and  remarked  that 
it  did  n't  make  any  difference,  for  I  was  n't  going  to  see 
my  girl." 

"  Now,  if  you  will  answer  one  more  question,  you 
may  be  excused  from  the  witness-stand.  Were  you  in 
Manning's  office  on  the  evening  of  the  murder?  " 

The  witness  looked  at  the  examiner  in  blank  amaze 
ment.  Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  Mr.  Hartman 
asked : 

"  Did  not  you  visit  Manning's  office  on  the  night  of 
the  murder,  and  carry  away  from  there  the  cane,  hand 
kerchief  and  papers  which  were  afterwards  found  at 
the  swamp?  " 

"No!  A  thousand  times,  no  !"  said  Sawtheaire 
explosively. 

"  That  is  all,"  said  Mr.  Hartman  ;  and  the  witness 
left  the  stand. 

The  letter  referred  to  by  the  witness,  which  has 
heretofore  been  particularly  mentioned,  was  now  read 
to  the  jury. 

Squire  Ingleside  was  called  to  the  stand,  and  testi 
fied  to  the  quarrel  between  Henry  Anderson  and  the 
defendant  on  the  afternoon  of  the  fatal  day.  There 
was  no  cross-examination. 

Other  witnesses  testified  to  the  facts  attending  the 
finding  of  Henry  Anderson  at  the  swamp.  The  Doc 
tor  was  called  to  show  the  location  and  the  fatality  o( 
the  wounds.  He  described  the  wounds  as  contused, 
produced  by  a  blunt  instrument  such  as  the  cane  in 
evidence  would  be  in  the  hands  of  a  powerful  man. 

Nick  Barker  testified,  as  he  had  at  the  coroner's 
inquest,  that  on  the  day  of  the  murder  Manning  had 
ordered  a  horse  to  be  sent  to  him  at  his  office,  and  had 
said  that  he  had  a  long  ride  before  him*  and  wanted  a 
gentle  horse  and  a  good  traveler  ;  that  after  dark  wit- 


ONE   SIDE    OF    THE    CASE.  575 

ness  took  the  horse  to  the  place  designated ;  that  Man 
ning  came  down  from  his  office  and  inquired  whether 
the  horse  would  find  his  way  back  to  the  stable  if 
turned  loose  anywhere  in  the  county  ;  that  witness  an 
swered,  "You  bet  he  will!  "  and  that  Manning  then 
said,  "  That 's  the  horse  I  want ;  "  that  Manning  led  the 
horse  across  the  road  and  tied  him  to  the  hitch-rack, 
and  that  witness  saw  no  more  of  the  young  man  that 
night.  * 

Mr.  Hartmann  cross-examined  the  lad  briefly. 

"Now,  my  boy,  didn't  Manning  tell  you  at  the 
stable  that  he  wanted  a  gentle  horse  and  a  good 
traveler?" 

"  Ain't  that  what  I  said  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  And  did  n't  you  say  to  him,  '  I  s'pose 
you  've  got  a  long  ride  before  you  ?  '  ' 

"Ain't  that  what  I  said  just  now  ?  " 

"You  are  here  to  answer  questions,  not  to  ask 
them.  What  is  your  answer?  " 

"Well,  I  know  there  was  somethin'  said  about  a 
long  ride,  and  that 's  all  I  '11  swear  to. " 

"When  you  took  the -horse  to  Mr.  Manning,  you 
called,  did  n't  you  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"And  he  came  down  from  the  office  ?  " 

"Course  he  did.  How  could  he  'a'  took  the  horse 
if  he  hadn't?" 

"True  enough.  You're  too  bright  a  boy  to  get 
caught.  And  I  'm  not  trying  to  catch  you  ;  I  want  to 
find  out  all  the  facts,  and  nothing  more.  Then  didn't 
you  say  to  Manning  that  he  had  asked  for  a  gentle 
horse  and  you  had  brought  him  one — that  he  could  turn 
the  horse  loose  anywhere  in  the  county,  and  he  would 
come  back  to  the  stable  ?  " 

"Well,  I  know  that  somethin'  of  that  'ere  kind 
was  said,  but  I  can't  remember  which  spoke  first." 

' '  Let  me  see  !  You  were  a  witness  at  the  coroner's 
inquest,  I  believe?" 

"What?" 


5/6  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"  You  remember  the  trial  before  Mr.  Anderson  was 
buried,  do  n't  you?" 

"  Course  I  do." 

"  You  testified  then,  did  n't  you  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Didn't  you  then  swear  that  when  you  turned  the 
horse  over  to  Manning,  he  mounted  and  rode  away 
towards  the  south?  " 

<<rl  didn't  sign  that  'ere  paper  you're  a-readin' 
from." 

"  You  made  your  mark  there,  did  n't  you  ?  " 

"May  be  so." 

"  Did  n't  you  swear  to  what  I  have  repeated  ?  " 

"Swear  to  what ?  "  asked  the  boy,  glancing  quickly 
at  Sawtheaire. 

"Look  at  me,  my  lad.  Never  mind  Mr.  Sawthe 
aire — " 

"I  protest  against  this  effort  to  bully  the  boy," 
roared  Squabble. 

Thereupon  the  usual  altercation  between  counsel 
ensued,  in  which  many  admirable  compliments  were 
exchanged  and  an  undying  brotherly  affection  was  man 
ifested.  The  Judge  grew  red  in  the  face,  reprimanded 
the  attorneys,  vowed  he  would  fine  them  if  another 
outburst  of  this  kind  should  occur,  and  then  ordered 
Mr.  Hartman  to  go  on  with  the  cross-examination. 

"Didn't  you  swear  at  the  coroner's  inquest  that 
when  Manning  came  down  from  his  office,  he  mounted 
the  horse  immediately  and  rode  south?  " 

"I  don't  know — I  don't  remember,"  was  the  surly 
answer. 

' '  Did  you  say  a  word  in  your  former  testimony 
about  his  hitching  his  horse  to  the  hitch-rack  ?  " 

"  I  do  n't  remember, "  stubbornly  persisted  the  boy. 

"Well,  it  is  not  very  material,  and  I'll  waste  no 
more  time  with  this  witness." 

The  witness  was  excused. 

James  Anderson  testified  that  his  father  left  home 
about  dark,  or  soon  afterwards,  on  his  way  to  Mr. 


ONE    SIDE    OF    THE    CASE.  577 

Murphy's;  that  he  had  on  his  person,  besides  his  watch 
and  chain,  about  five  hundred  dollars ;  that  when  he 
was  found  in  the  swamp,  the  watch,  chain  and  money 
were  still  on  his  person.  He  gave  a  detailed  account 
of  the  return  and  condition  of  the  horse,  and  the  find 
ing  of  his  father.  On  cross-examination  he  stated  that 
Sawtheaire  had  no  cuffs  on.  His  testimony  showed 
that  Sawtheaire  was  the  leader  in  every  discovery 
which  pointed  to  Manning  as  the  guilty  party. 

At  this  point  in  the  testimony,  court  was  adjourned 
till  morning. 

When  the  morning  session  began  the  crowd  was  as 
large  as  on  the  day  before.  Counsel  seemed  grave  and 
worn,  as  if  the  time  which  should  have  been  given  to 
sleep  had  been  devoted  to  the  preparation  of  the  case 
on  trial. 

The  proprietors  of  the  livery-stable  swore  that  the 
horse  ridden  by  Manning  had  come  back  the  next 
morning  without  a  rider,  and  had  shown  evidences  of 
having  been  ridden  recklessly.  They  declared  that 
they  would  never  consign  horse-flesh  to  such  merciless 
over-sight  again. 

It  was  proved  that  William  Manning  left  Welling 
ton  on  the  night  of  the  murder,  and  was  not  heard  of 
for  more  than  two  years  thereafter,  when  he  returned 
and  surrendered  himself  to  the  sheriff,  and  confessed 
that  his  real  name  was  William  Huntington;  and  that, 
for  reasons  which  he  did  not  see  fit  to  divulge,  he  had 
lived  at  Wellington  under  an  assumed  name.  There 
was  no  effort  to  controvert  any  of  these  propositions. 

Jolly  Bidson,  the  fisherman,  swore  that  a  stranger 
came  to  him  on  the  night  of  the  murder,  and  desired 
to  be  rowed  across  the  river ;  that  witness  demanded  a 
large  fee,  which  was  paid  without  a  murmur ;  that  wit 
ness  left  the  stranger  near  the  railway  station  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river,  and  thought  from  all  the 
circumstances  that  the  fellow  intended  to  take  the 
train  going  south,  which  was  to  pass  in  a  short  time ; 
that  witness  saw  the  man's  face  by  the  light  of  the 


5/8  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

lantern,  and  that  he  was  the  man  now  on  trial  ;  that  the 
stranger  was  on  horseback,  and  turned  his  horse  loose, 
and  when  witness  returned  the  horse  was  gone ;  that 
the  stranger  exacted  from  the  witness  a  promise  not  to 
mention  the  matter  to  any  one. 

"So  you  promised  the  stranger  you  wouldn't 
tell?"  asked  Mr.  Hartman,  on  cross-examination. 

"Yas." 

' '  And  then  you  told  the  first  person  you  saw  all 
about  it?"  • 

"Yas." 

' '  That  is  to  say,  you  lied  when  you  said  you 
wouldn't  tell?" 

"Yas.  Nobody  don't  never  keep  sich  a  promise 
as  that.  Fact  is,  tellin'  it  ain't  hardly  considered  lyin' 
in  my  neck  of  the  woods." 

"  I  suppose  not.  Let  me  see ;  you  were  subpoenaed 
as  a  witness  in  this  case  last  week,  if  I  mistake 
not?" 

"Yas." 

*•'  Why  did  n't  you  come  to  court?" 

"I  did." 

"When?" 

"Yesterday." 

"Yes,  when  the  officer  brought  you  here  on  an 
attachment.  Why  did  n't  you  obey  the  subpoena  ?" 

"  Case  I  could  n't  git  away." 

"  Get  away  from  where  ?" 

"  From  \vhar?     Git  away  from  business." 

"Now  see  here,  Bidson,  where  were  you  when  the 
officer  attached  you  ?" 

"  I  was  jest  gittin'  into  a  boat." 

"  Where  were  you  going?" 

"  I  was  a-goin'  to  the  other  side  of  the  river." 

"  Hadn't  Lyrnan  Sawtheaire  told  you  to  leave,  so 
that  he  could  get  a  continuance  of  this  case?" 

"Naw!" 

"Wasn't  Nick  Barker  climbing  into  your  boat  at 
the  time  you  were  arrested  ?" 


ONE    SIDE   OF    THE    CASE.  579 

"  Yas,  I  believe  he  was." 

"Now  didn't  you  tell  Peter  Halbertson,  when  he 
arrested  you  and  Barker,  that  it  was  n't  your  fault — that 
Sawtheaire  told  you  to  leave  the  State  and  stay  away 
till  court  adjourned,  and  that  Sawtheaire  was  State's 
attorney,  and  you  thought  he  ought  to  know  what  he 
was  about,  and  took  him  at  his  word  !" 

The  witness  looked  first  at  Sawtheaire  and  then  at 
his  interrogator.  Sawtheaire  colored  and  sprang  to  his 
feet.  So  did  Squabble  ;  ditto,  Wriggle ;  ditto,  Dabble. 
Their  eyes  flashed  angrily.  All  essayed  to  speak  at 
once,  till  the  court  succeeded  in  quieting  the  din  by 
loudly  insisting  that  they  should  speak  one  at  a  time. 
Squabble  held  the  floor.  It  was  a  shame,  he  said,  that 
an  ignoramus,  a  pettifogger,  a  two-legged  animal  in  the 
form  of  a  man.  should  be  allowed  to  come  to  the  great 
Prairie  State,  which  had  furnished  one  president  to  the 
nation,  and  was  ready  to  furnish  another,  the  proud 
and  happy  State  that  boasted  of  a  Lincoln  and  a 
Douglas,  and  deliberately  undertake  to  bully  and  vilify 
honorable  practitioners  of  the  law,  who  were  in  every 
way,  he  might  say  without  boasting,  the  peers  of  the 
ablest  members  of  the  bar  in  the  city  of  New  York. 
not  to  mention  the  insignificant  hamlet  of  Buffalo.  It 
was  about  time  for  lawyers  and  courts  to  defend  them 
selves  from  such  insults.  In  the  interest  of  justice  he 
objected  to  the  creature's — he  would  not  say  gentle 
man's — he  objected  to  the  creature's  question. 

By  this  time  Billy  Johnson  was  in  a  towering  pas 
sion,  and  stepped  forward,  and  with  one  well-directed 
blow  knocked  Mr.  Squabble  against  the  wall.  Wriggle 
tripped  gently  but  rapidly  out  of  the  court-room  for 
air,  and  Dabble  hastened  to  the  bucket  for  a  drink  of 
water.  Mr.  Hartman  sat  still,  smiling  placidly.  The 
women  shrieked  and  the  spectators  rose  to  their  feet. 
Sheriff  Hazelbrush  caught  Johnson's  arm  just  as  the 
Kentuckian  was  about  to  deliver  another  blow.  The 
combatants  were  separated  and  led  to  their  respective 
chairs.  Squabble  petted  the  lump  on  his  head,  while 


580  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

Johnson  rolled  his  eyes  as  if  he  would  like  to  dispose  of 
another  installment  of  muscular  energy. 

The  court  fined  the  gentlemen  twenty-five  dollars 
each,  Johnson  for  committing  an  assault,  and  Squabble 
for  being  assaulted,  and  delivered  a  wholesome  and 
caustic  lecture  to  all  concerned,  in  the  course  of  which 
he  expressed  his  regret  at  the  abolition  of  the  whipping 
post.  In  the  meantime  Wriggle  and  Dabble  had  re 
turned  and  timidly  intruded  themselves  into  their  re 
spective  chairs. 

At  this  point  Squabble  arose,  and  stated  that  in  the 
heat  of  debate  and  in  a  thoughtless  moment  he  had 
been  guilty  of  some  slight  intemperance  of  speech,  for 
which  he  did  now  apologize  to  the  bench  and  his  pro 
fessional  brethren.  He  took  pleasure  in  affirming  that 
he  had  the  greatest  respect  for  the  learning,  ability  and 
integrity  of  his  brethren  in  New  York  as  well  as  in 
Illinois.  He  trusted  that  these  slight  asperities  of 
language  would  not  be  allowed  to  interfere  with  the 
cordiality  of  their  relations.  At  the  conclusion  of 
this  harangue  Billy  Johnson  arose  and  stated  that  he 
experienced  the  same  difficulty  in  the  control  of  his 
fist  that  his  brother  Squabble  did  in  the  control  of  his 
tongue.  He  apologized  for  his  unseemly  behavior  in 
the  presence  of  the  court,  and  expressed  a  hope  that 
these  slight  asperities  of  the  fist  would  not  be  allowed 
to  interfere  with  the  cordiality  of  his  relations  with  his 
professional  brethren.  The  court  thereupon  remarked 
that  he  was  rejoiced  to  see  brethren  so  ready  to  forgive 
and  forget,  and  that  to  cement  the  reconciliation  thus 
so  nobly  effected  he  would  remit  the  fines.  Harmony 
was  now  restored,  and  the  cross-examination  of  the 
witness  resumed. 

"  May  I  resume  the  thread  of  my  discourse  ?"  asked 
the  unruffled  Hartman. 

"  Certainly.  Proceed,  sir.  Your  question  is  proper. 
I  want  this  whole  transaction  laid  bare." 

"  Bidson,"  began  the  lawyer,  "  did  you  say  to  Peter 
Halbertson,  at  the  time  when  he  arrested  you  and  Nick 


ONE   SIDE   OF   THE   CASE.  $8 1 

Barker,  that  it  was  n't  your  fault — that  Sawtheaire  told 
you  to  leave  the  State  and  stay  away  till  after  court 
had  adjourned?" 

"  Do  I  have  to  answer?"  asked  the  witness,  appeal 
ing  to  the  Judge. 

"Answer!"  was  the  emphatic  command.  The 
Judge  leaned  forward  to  catch  the  words. 

"Wall,  then,  yas.  That's  about  the  sum  an'  sub 
stance  of  it." 

"And  now  you  say,  under  oath,  that  Sawtheaire 
did  not  tell  you  any  such  thing?" 

"Yas." 

"Then  you  told  a  falsehood  when  you  told  the 
officer  that  Sawtheaire  did  tell  you  so  ?" 

"Yas;  that's  the  sum  an'  substance  of  it." 

"Have  you  been  instructed  how  to  answer  these 
questions?" 

"Naw." 

"But  you  have  had  conversation  with  Squabble 
and  Sawtheaire  since  you  were  brought  here  yester 
day  ?" 

"Yas,  a  little." 

"  You  may  go,  sir." 

Harvey  Holly  was  the  next  witness,  and  testified  as 
follows : 

"  I  saw  William  Manning  last  Saturday  at  the  jail. 
Mayor  Trinkenviellager  and  myself,  as  old  acquaintances 
of  the  defendant,  went  to  the  jail  to  see  him,  and  the 
Sheriff  admitted  us  to  his  cell.  I  told  Manning  I  was 
sorry  to  see  him  in  such  a  tight  place ;  that  while  we 
had  never  been  warm  friends,  I  nevertheless  didn't 
wish  him  any  harm.  I  told  him  I  thought  it  would 
go  pretty  hard  with  him.  He  asked  if  I  thought  the 
people  could  make  out  much  of  a  case  against  him, 
and  I  told  him  I  thought  they  could  from  what  I  had 
heard  of  the  evidence.  He  then  asked  me  if  I  thought 
Sawtheaire  could  be  induced  to  let  up  on  him.  He 
said  his  step-father  had  plenty  of  money,  and  would  pay 
a  big  price  to  get  him  out  of  this  scrape.  I  told  him 


582  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

such  things  were  against  the  law,  and  Sawtheaire  was 
in  dead  earnest  in  this  prosecution.  He  said  the  reason 
he  talked  to  us  about  it  was  that  he  believed  we  could 
work  Sawtheaire  if  anybody  could,  and  that  Sawtheaire 
would  have  to  be  worked  in  some  way.  He  said  if  he 
could  get  out  of  this  scrape,  he  would  never  get  into 
another,  but  would  leave  Wellington  and  try  to  right 
up  and  live  like  a  man.  I  told  him  he  could  n't  do  any 
thing  with  Sawtheaire,  and  I  would  n't  touch  the  job 
any  way,  for  it  was  against  the  law.  Then  he  said  he 
didn't  ask  to  be  let  off  entirely;  that  he  would 
be  willing  to  plead  guilty  and  go  for  fifteen  or  twenty 
years  ;  that  his  step-father  would  pay  handsomely  if  he 
could  be  got  off  with  twenty  years.  I  told  him  he  'd 
have  to  see  somebody  else — I  was  n't  in  the  business. 
That 's  about  all  that  took  place." 

This  unexpected  testimony  produced  a  great  sensa 
tion  in  the  court-room.  There  was  breathless  silence 
till  the  last  sentence  had  been  uttered,  and  then  there 
was  excited  whispering  in  the  crowd,  which  it  took  the 
Sheriff  several  minutes  to  suppress.  A  cold,  stern  ex 
pression  rested  on  the  face  of  the  Judge  as  he  looked  at 
the  prisoner  at  the  close  of  the  statement.  Manning 
sat  daztd.  He  was  not  expecting  such  testimony. 
Sawtheaire  and  his  associates  looked  around  the  room 
in  triumph.  Billy  Johnson  sat  with  his  mouth  wide 
open.  Elizabeth's  lips  were  closed  like  a  vise.  Katie 
was  white  with  fear.  The  tide  seemed  turned  against 
the  defendant.  Mr.  Hartman  confronted  the  daring 
witness.  He  stood  there  a  changed  man.  No  smile 
illuminated  his  face;  no  kindliness  was  in  his  manner. 
His  hands  were  clasped  tightly  behind  him.  The  fires 
were  kindled  in  his  eyes.  He  seemed  unmindful  of 
his  surroundings,  and  intent  only  on  crushing  August 
Holly. 

"Cross-examine  the  witness,  Mr.  Hartman,"  said 
the  court. 

' '  Yes,  your  honor, "  was  the  answer.  Then  address 
ing  the  witness  in  a  strong,  steady  voice,  he  inquired : 


ONE    SIDE    OF   THE    CASE.  583 

"  What  is  your  business?  " 

"  I  'm  a  saloon-keeper  at  present." 

' '  Have  you  and  the  defendant  ever  been  on  terms 
of  friendship  ?" 

"  We've  never  been  intimate." 

"Have  you  ever  been  on  friendly  terms?" 

"  We  've  never  been  intimate." 

"  Have  you  ever  been  on  friendly  terms?" 

"  Well,  I  can  't  say  that  we  have." 

"  He  fought  you  and  your  business,  and  you  fought 
him?" 

"I  expect  that's  about  the  way  of  it." 

1 '  Was  he  ever  in  your  saloon  ?  " 

"Not  that  I  know  of." 

"  Did  n't  he  sue  you  in  Mrs.  Anderson's  name,  and 
get  a  judgment  against  you  for  selling  liquor  to  her 
husband?" 

'"  I  believe  he  did." 

"Don't  you  knoiv  he  did?"  thundered  Mr.  Hart- 
man,  his  voice  trembling  with  ill-suppressed  passion. 
The  witness  saw  that  a  mighty  conflict  was  upon  him, 
and  took  out  his  handkerchief  and  wiped  the  perspi 
ration  from  his  brow. 

"Yes,  I  know  it,"  he  answered. 

"You  denounced  and  threatened  him  for  that,  did 
you  not? " 

"Well,  I  didn't  like  to  have  my  business  interfered 
with  by  an  outsider.  It  was  a  clear  steal — " 

"Answer  my  question,"  cried  the  attorney. 

"Yes,  I  denounced  him." 

"Then  he  had  you  arrested  on  a  charge  of  con 
spiracy  with  others  to  run  off  witnesses?" 

"I  believe  he  did." 

"  You  knoiu  it,  do  n't  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  know  it,  if  that  will  do  you  any  good." 

"  He  caused  you  to  be  held  to  bail  in  the  sum  of 
one  thousand  dollars  on  that  charge?" 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"Don't  you  know  it?" 


A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

"Yes,  I  know  it" 

"  And  you  gave  the  bond?" 

"I  gave  the  bond." 

At  this  point  Lyman  Sawtheaire  vehemently  object 
ed,  insisting  that  this  was  not  proper  cross-examination. 
But  the  court  held  that  it  was  proper,  as  showing  the 
state  of  feeling  between  the  witness  and  defendant,  and 
having  a  consequent  bearing  on  the  probability  or  im 
probability  of  the  testimony  of  the  witness. 

' '  Now,  then,  Holly,  is  it  not  true  that,  for 
these  and  other  reasons,  you  and  Manning  hated  each 
other?" 

"Well,  we  had  no  love  for  each  other." 

' '  You  did  not  so  much  as  speak  when  you  met  on 
the  street?" 

"No." 

' '  Have  you  not  said  repeatedly  that  you  hated  him  ?' ' 

"I  may  have  said  so  occasionally,  but  not  repeat 
edly." 

' '  And  notwithstanding  this  state  of  feeling  between 
you,  it  is  your  testimony  to  this  jury  that  he  made  you 
his  confidant  last  Saturday,  and  confessed  to  you,  of 
all  men,  that  he  was  guilty  ?  " 

"  He  told  me  what  I  have  testified  to." 

"What  did  you  go  to  the  jail  for  ?  " 

"I  wanted  to  see  him." 

"What  for?" 

"  I  wanted  to  talk  to  him." 

"What  about?" 

"Why,  about — about  matters  in  general." 

"Didn't  you  and  Trinkenviellager  go  there  so.  that 
you  could  swear  that  he  had  made  these  admissions 
to  you  ?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"  Did  you  go  to  him  as  a  friend  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  hardly — I  went  from  curiosity,  I  suppose." 

' '  Were  you  not  one  of  the  mob  that  tried  to  hang 
him  ?  " 

"  I  guess  I  was  in  the  crowd. " 


ONE    SIDE    OF    THE    CASE.  $$ 

"  Now,  sir,  when  you  say  that  Manning  asked  you 
to  get  Sawtheaire  to  let  him  off  wirh  twenty  years  in 
the  penitentiary,  don't  you  know  you  lie?  " 

"  I  claim  the  protection  of  the  court,"  said  Holly. 

"  You  will  need  it  before  you  get  through  with  this 
case,  my  dear  sir.  But  I  '11  not  press  the  question. 
Do  n't  you  know  that  Manning  had  sense  enough  to 
know  that  Sawtheaire  could  n't  make  any  bargain 
about  the  punishment  that  would  bind  the  court  ?" 

"  He  could  recommend — " 

"  And  then  the  court  could  hang  the  prisoner?" 

"  I  suppose  he  could." 

"  Now,  Holly,  tell  me  who  were  in  the  back  room  of 
your  saloon  last  Friday  night." 

Objection  was  made  that  this  was  not  proper  cross- 
examination  ;  but  the  court  directed  the  witness  to 
answer. 

At  this  juncture  there  was  an  unwonted  commotion 
in  the  room.  "Make  way!  make  way!"  cried  one. 
"  Give  him  air  !"  cried  another.  The  huge,  unwieldy 
form  of  the  Mayor  was  taken  up  by  strong  arms  and 
borne  through  the  crowd  into  the  open  air.  His  face 
had  become  almost  purple  during  this  cross-examina 
tion.  His  fan  had  been  vigorously  applied  all  the  time. 
"  O  mine  heavens  alive  !  "  he  had  been  saying  to  him 
self.  "  He  's  de  very  deffel !  I  neffer  can  stand  dat !  " 
The  last  question  had  startled  him  as  nothing  else  had 
done.  It  was  too  much  for  his  already  overstrained 
nerves.  The  fan  fell  from  his  hand.  The  bystanders 
caught  him  as  he  was  falling  from  his  chair,  and  carried 
him  out  of  the  room  and  thence  to  his  mansion,  where 
his  wicked  life  was  to  be  extinguished  before  the  dawn 
of  another  day.  Apoplexy  had  saved  him  from  the 
halter. 

When  order  was  restored  the  examination  was 
continued.  The  witness  had  undertaken  to  speak  to 
Sawtheaire  during  the  confusion,  but  the  court  had 
checked  him  and  forbidden  any  communication  be- 
twaen  the  two  before  the  close  of  the  examination. 


586  A    SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

"  Answer  my  question,"  said  Mr.  Hartman.  "  Who 
were  in  the  rear  room  of  your  saloon  last  Friday 
night?" 

The  witness  had  regained  his  composure,  and  an 
swered  : 

"  No  one,  as  far  as  I  know." 

"Were  not  you  and  Lyman  Sawtheaire  and  Mayor 
Trinkenviellager  in  that  room  at  that  time,  and  was  not 
the  story  you  have  sworn  to  here  concocted  there  by 
the  three  of  you,  and  did  n't  you  and  the  Mayor  go  to 
see  the  defendant  the  next  day,  to  give  your  testimony 
the  semblance  of  truth  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  we  didn't.  There  isn't  a  word  of  truth 
in  it." 

"  We  '1.1  prove  it.     You  can  go,  sir. 

As  the  hour  for  adjournment  was  now  drawing  near, 
counsel  for  the  people  began  to  plead  for  time  for  con 
sultation  before  closing  their  case.  They  were  worn 
out,  they  were  not  well,  they  affirmed.  If  they  could 
have  the  evening  for  the  consideration  of  the  case,  they 
could  shorten  the  trial  by  the  elimination  of  unneces 
sary  matter,  etc.  Besides,  they  wanted  to  use  the 
Mayor  as  a  witness,  and  he  was  certainly  in  no  condi 
tion  to  testify  at  present.  The  court  promised  to  per 
mit  the  Mayor  to  be  called  in  the  morning,  but  stated 
that  in  all  other  respects  their  evidence  must  be  closed 
before  adjournment. 

So  the  Sheriff  was  called  to  the  stand,  and  stated 
that  the  Mayor  and  Holly  did  visit  Manning  on  the 
preceding  Saturday,  and  had  hot  words  with  him.  The 
witness  was  not  able  to  repeat  a  single  word  that  was 
uttered. 

Some  other  witnesses  were  introduced  and  minor 
points  proved.  When  court  was  adjourned  for  the  day 
the  people's  case  was  closed  ;  for  it  was  certain  that 
the  Mayor  would  be  beyond  the  process  of  earthly 
courts  before  morning. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

THE   OTHER    SIDE    OF    THE    CASE. 

The  case  of  the  defendant  was  opened,  on  the 
following  morning,  by  the  testimony  of  the  defendant 
himself. 

The  witness  admitted  that  he  had  been  living  at 
Wellington  under  an  assumed  name,  and  had  quarreled 
with  Henry  Anderson  a  few  hours  before  the  assault  at 
the  swamp.  Being  asked  to  give  an  account  of  his 
actions  during  his  last  day  in  Wellington,  he  testified 
as  follows : 

"I  had  decided  to  leave  Wellington  as  secretly  as  I 
had  come.  No  one  knew  whence  I  had  come,  and  I 
was  determined  that  no  one  should  know  whither  I 
was  going.  Cogent  reasons  of  a  private  and  personal 
nature  hastened  my  departure.  Of  these  matters, 
which  have  no  connection  with  this  case,  I  do  not 
desire  to  speak.  I  went  to  the  livery  stable  and 
engaged  a  horse,  as  has  been  proved.  I  think  I  asked 
for  a  good  horse,  or  a  good  traveler.  I  have  no  recol 
lection  of  saying  that  I  had  a  long  ride  before  me, 
though  that  was  true,  whether  I  said  it  or  not.  My 
recollection  is  that  when  I  said  I  wanted  a  good  trav 
eler,  the  boy  volunteered  the  statement  that  I  must 
have  a  long  ride  before  me.  And  I  think,  when  he 
brought  me  the  horse,  he  said  something  about  the 
animal  being  gentle,  and  that,  if  I  turned  him  loose 
anywhere  in  the  county,  he  would  come  back  to  the 
stable.  I  remember  I  had  been  puzzled  about  return 
ing  the  horse,  for  it  was  my  intention  to  ride  to  the 
river,  cross  over  in  a  skiff,  and  take  the  train  on  the 
other  side.  When  the  boy  said  what  he  did  I  felt 
relieved,  and  determined  to  turn  the  horse  loose  when 
I  reached  the  river,  and  let  him  find  his  way  home, 
according  to  the  boy's  suggestion. 

587 


5  88  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

' '  At  first  I  had  intended  to  go  to  Colorado,  but  on 
the  very  day  of  my  departure  I  received  a  letter  which 
caused  me  to  change  my  mind,  and  return  to  my  old 
home  in  the  State  of  New  York. 

' '  After  dark  that  evening  I  was  seated  in  my  office 
waiting  for  my  horse.  I  suppose  it  makes  no  differ 
ence  in  this  case  what  my  feelings  were,  or  what  I  was 
thinking  about.  I  was  startled  by  a  rap  at  the  door, 
and  called  out,  '  Come  in  ! '  The  door  was  opened  by 
a  half-grown  lad,  who  did  not  venture  into  the  room. 
Having  no  light  in  the  office,  I  could  not  see  his  face, 
so  as  to  be  able  to  recognize  him  afterward.  He  asked 
me  if  that  was  Manning's  office,  and  said  that  Silas 
Jenkins  was  dying,  and  wanted  to  see  me  immediately 
about  his  will.  He  said  his  name  was  Johnny  Solan, 
and  that  he  had  heen  working  for  Mr.  Jenkins  only  a 
few  days.  I  told  him  to  tell  the  old  gentleman  that  I 
would  be  there  inside  of  an  hour.  I  had  written  a  will 
for  Mr.  Jenkins  only  a  few  weeks  before,  and  thought 
it  strange  that  he  should  now  want  to  make  another 
will.  But  such  a  desire  was  not  so  extraordinary  as  to 
arouse  any  serious  suspicion  that  the  boy's  message 
was  false. ' ' 

Here  counsel  for  the  people  raised  an  objection  that 
the  witness  was  making  a  speech  instead  of  giving  testi 
mony,  and  the  witness  was  admonished  to  confine 
himself  to  a  rehearsal  of  the  naked  facts. 

"When  my  horse  was  brought  me,"  continued  the 
witness,  "I  hastily  left  my  office,  mounted  the  animal, 
and  galloped  down  the  road  leading  south  from  Wel 
lington.  Suddenly  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  had  for 
gotten  certain  articles  I  wanted  to  take  with  me,  so  I 
turned  back  toward  the  city.  As  I  was  riding  along  I 
heard  the  hoof-beats  of  a  horse  approaching  from  the 
city,  and  presently  I  passed  the  horse  and  rider.  There 
was  no  moon,  and  the  sky  was  covered  with  heavy 
clouds,  so  that  I  could  only  make  out  the  outline  of 
the  man.  The  figure  reminded  me  of  Henry  Anderson, 
and  I  now  believe — " 


THE    OTHER    SIDE    OF    THE    CASE.  589 

"Hold  on!  Wait!"  shouted  Squabble.  "We 
object!"  insisted  Wriggle.  "The  witness  knows  he 
has  no  right  to  tell  what  he  believes! "  argued  Dabble. 
The  court  rebuked  the  witness,  and  advised  him  that  it 
was  not  a  matter  of  any  consequence  what  he  or  any 
other  witness  might,  could,  would  or  should  believe ; 
that  he  must  confine  himself  to  a  statement  of  the  facts, 
and  that  from  these  facts  the  jury  must  draw  their  own 
inferences.  After  the  tempest  had  abated  the  witness 
began  again : 

' '  When  I  reached  Wellington  I  tied  my  horse  to 
the  hitching-rack,  went  to  my  office,  secured  the  arti 
cles  I  had  returned  for,  crossed  the  street,  unfastened 
my  horse,  mounted,  and  rode  off  south  again.  I  did 
not  take  my  cane — that  was  left  in  my  office.  I  did 
not  have  this  handkerchief  or  these  legal  documents 
with  me.  Sawtheaire  may  have  seen  me  come  down 
from  my  office,  valise  in  hand,  but  he  did  not  see  me 
with  my  cane,  for  I  did  not  have  it." 

The  witness  paused  for  a  moment.  There  was 
some  whispering  and  exchanging  of  incredulous  looks 
among  the  spectators,  while  Sawtheaire  put  on  a  smile, 
intended  to  convey  the  impression  that  the  witness  was 
swearing  falsely.  The  Judge  was  listening  most  in 
tently,  and  the  jury  seemed  deeply  interested.  After 
a  momentary  pause,  the  witness  continued: 

' '  When  I  reached  the  swamp  I  reined  in  my  horse, 
and  proceeded  leisurely  along  the  road.  My  horse 
began  to  behave  strangely — stopped  and  neighed — and 
I  began  to  peer  about  in  the  darkness  to  see  what  was 
the  matter.  I  heard  a  trampling  noise,  and  saw  a  dark 
object,  which  proved  to  be  a  horse  without  a  rider.  I 
wondered  what  the  horse  was  doing  there,  and  then  my 
mind  turned  to  other  subjects  as  I  rode  on.  When  I 
neared  the  middle  of  the  swamp  I  heard  another  noise ; 
it  sounded  like  a  groan.  I  stopped  and  listened.  I 
called ;  there  was  no  answer.  I  called  again.  Still  no 
answer.  I  dismounted  from  my  horse,  took  my  pistol 
out  of  my  valise,  struck  a  match,  and  looked  about  me 


59°  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

in  the  road.  I  lighted  match  after  match,  and  led  my 
horse  up  and  down  the  road,  searching  for  anything 
that  might  account  for  the  sound  I  had  heard-,  but 
neither  saw  nor  heard  anything  to  explain  the  strange 
noise.  If  I  had  retraced  my  steps  a  little  further  I 
would  have  found  the  cane  and  evidences  of  a  struggle. 
The  matches  afforded  but  a  feeble  light,  and  my  stock 
was  soon  exhausted.  I  had  to  make  my  train.  I  had 
been  delayed  too  much  already.  So  I  remounted  my 
horse,  and  was  about  to  put  my  pistol  into  my  pocket, 
when  it  occurred  to  me  that  the  weapon  had  not  been 
used  for  a  long  time,  and  it  would  be  well  enough  to 
test  its  shooting  properties.  On  the  impulse  of  the 
moment,  I  fired  the  first  cartridge  into  the  swamp,  on 
the  east  side  of  the  road.  Then  I  went  on  till  I  came 
to  Mr.  Jenkins'  house,  where  I  stopped  to  see  what  he 
wanted  me  to  do.  But  I  didn't  get  into  the  house. 
The  old  lady  said  he  had  made  his  will,  and  had  n't 
sent  for  me,  and  did  n't  want  to  see  me,  and  then 
commenced  to  call  the  dog — " 

"We  object !  "  roared  Squabble,  expostulated  Wrig 
gle,  and  remonstrated  Dabble.  The  court  held  the 
statements  of  Mrs.  Jenkins  to  be  improper,  and  ex 
cluded  them. 

"Well,"  continued  the  witness,  "I  rode  on  till  I 
reached  the  river ;  there  I  turned  my  horse  loose,  and 
hired  the  man  who  has  already  testified,  Jolly  Bidson 
I  believe  he  called  himself,  to  row  me  across  the  river. 
I  am  not  guilty  of  the  murder  of  Henry  Anderson.  I 
did  not  kill  him,  and  know  nothing  personally  of  the 
manner  in  which  he  was  assassinated.  I  can  not  explain 
how  my  cane,  handkerchief  and  papers  came  to  be 
found  in  the  road.  Others  may  explain  that.  I  only 
know  that  I  did  n't  drop  them  there,  and  did  n't  have 
them  with  me  that  night. 

"  Holly  and  Trinkenviellager  did  come  to  see  me  at 
the  jail  last  Saturday,  but  we  had  no  such  a  conversation 
as  Holly  has  sworn  to.  Holly  suggested  that  if  I  would 
plead  guilty,  and  my  step-father  would  pay  liberally, 


THE    OTHER    SIDE    OF    THE    CASE.  59! 

Sawtheaire  might  be  induced  to  consent  to  a  term  of 
fifteen  or  twenty  years.  This  proposition  angered 
me.  I  denounced  Holly,  told  him  I  was  not  guilty, 
had  no  bargain  to  make,  and  did  n't  want  his  advice  or 
help.  I  told  him  that  his  proposition  was  criminal, 
and  that  if  I  lived  long  enough  I  would  see  that  he 
obtained  what  he  merited,  the  penitentiary,  or  more 
prpperly,  the  halter.  That  is  all  there  was  of  that  inter 
view.  " 

The  witness  was  cross-examined  at  great  length  by 
Mr.  Squabble,  but  without  in  any  manner  weakening 
the  testimony  that  had  been  given. 

Bert  Berry  was  sworn  next.  He  stated  that  on  the 
night  of  the  murder  he  and  hi?  friend  Ace  Mattock 
were  in  the  vicinity  of  the  tool-house  back  of  Mayor 
Trinkenviellager's  office,  on  special  business,  which  he 
did  not  deem  it  necessary  to  divulge.  They  heard  foot 
steps.  They  were  desirous  of  avoiding  their  fellow 
creatures  at  that  moment,  and  so  crept  up  close  to  the 
tool-house,  and  squatted  down  there.  While  they  were 
in  that  posture,  the  window  of  the  Mayor's  office  was 
raised,  and  two  men  clambered  into  the  room.  The 
witness  was  not  able  to  state  who  they  were  or  what 
their  business  was. 

Objections  on  all  grounds  which  the  combined  in 
genuity  of  four  astute  lawyers  could  suggest  were  inter 
posed  throughout  the  testimony  of  this  witness,  but  the 
court  admitted  the  evidence  on  the  avowal  of  Mr. 
Hartman  that  its  materiality  would  certainly  appear  be 
fore  the  close  of  the  day. 

The  cross-examination  was  severe.  The  witness  was 
pressed  to  tell  what  he  was  doing  at  the  tool-house  at 
that  hour  of  the  night,  and  gave  many  evasive  answers  ; 
being  pressed  more  closely,  however,  he  blurted  out 
that  he  supposed  he  was  going  to  do  the  same  thing 
as  those  fellows  who  crawled  into  the  Mayor's  office 
through  the  window. 

"What  was  that?"  asked  Mr.  Squabble. 

"  Play  poker,."  was  the  answer. 


592  ^    A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

The  lawyers  then  pressed  the  witness  with  questions 
to  find  out  why  he  supposed  the  other  fellows  were 
going  to  play  poker,  till  at  last  the  boy  said  he  supposed 
they  must  be  at  some  "  dirty  business  "  or  they  would 
not  have  been  sneaking  in  at  the  back  window.  There 
upon  the  crowd  laughed,  the  Judge  smiled,  and  Mr. 
Squabble  colored  up  as  high  as  his  ears.  The  examiner 
then  asked  the  witness,  in  a  furious  voice,  how  he 
•remembered  that  this  remarkable  transaction  occurred 
on  the  night  of  the  murder ;  to  which  the  witness  replied 
that  he  heard  of  the  murder  the  next  day,  and  that  set 
him  to  thinking  of  what  he  had  done,  seen  and  heard 
the  evening  before,  and  fixed  this  and  many  other 
things  in  his  mind.  This  answer  was  not  at  all  satis 
factory,  and  Mr.  Squabble  asked  the  witness,  in  a  voice 
of  thunder,  why  he  did  n't  tell  this  very  likely  and  con 
sistent  story  sooner.  Bert  seemed  to  be  armed  cap-a- 
pie,  and  answered  that  he  did  n't  want  to  be  fined  for 
playing  poker,  or  to  be  discharged  by  his  employer.  Be 
sides,  he  said,  he  did  n't  suppose  it  was  a  matter  of  much 
importance,  or  had  anything  to  do  with  the  murder. 

"We  agree  with  you  in  your  last  statement,"  said, 
Squabble.  ' '  But  tell  us,  boy,  why  you  have  all  at  once 
lost  your  fear,  and  come  to  the  stand  and  sworn  to  this 
— well,  say  statement?" 

"Well,  in  the  first  place,  because  the  time's  run 
out.  They  can 't  fine  a  fellow  for  gambling  after 
eighteen  months.  You  ought  to  know  that  much.1'' 
The  crowd  seemed  to  enjoy  this  thrust  immensely,  and 
Judge  Snapper  almost  rolled  from  his  chair.  Squabble 
looked  around  the  room  indignantly.  The  boy  went  on : 
"  In  the  next  place,  I  've  lost  my  job,  and  ain't  in  any 
danger  of  being  discharged,  do  n't  you  see  ?  And  then 
I  '11  tell  you  more,  Mr.  Squabble,  I  would  n't  have  told 
it  at  all  if  it  hadn't  been  wormed  out  of  me." 

"Wormed  out  of  you !  Who  wormed  it  out  of 
you?" 

"Why,  he  was  a  black- whiskered  fellow,  and  as 
slick  as  an  eel,  and  called  himself  Willis  Derby." 


THE    OTHER    SIDE    OF   THE    CASE.  593 

"When  was  that?" 

"  Last  Summer." 

"  Is  that  fellow  about  the  court-room  to-day?" 

"  I  do  n't  see  him  here,  and  have  n't  seen  him  since 
last  Summer.  How  in  the  world  he  ever  got  onto  it  I 
don't  know.  I  believe  he  can  tell  what's  in  you  just 
by  looking  at  you." 

Here  ensued  a  consultation  among  counsel.  Their 
heads  came  together  in  a  quadrangle.  It  rarely  hap 
pens  that  so  much  legal  lore  is  located  within  the  space  of 
four  square  feet.  They  were  evidently  at  a  loss  to  know 
what  to  do  next.  At  length  the  witness  was  dismissed. 

Ace  Mattock  was  called,  and  fully  corroborated  his 
friend  Bert  Berry.  He  was  dismissed  without  any  effort 
at  cross-examination. 

Marion  Spence  was  then  sworn,  and  testified  as 
follows : 

"  I  was  with  Henry  Anderson  on  the  night  he  died. 
At  one  time  his  son  James,  Miss  Oakford  and  I  were 
with  him,  and  all  others  had  left  the  room.  He  had 
been  very  quiet,  scarcely  breathing  at  times,  when  alf 
at  once  he  seemed  to  be  aroused,  and  asked  us  to  shut 
the  door.  He  wanted  to  speak  to  us  alone,  he  said. 
He  assured  us  that  he  knew  he  had  been  given  up  by 
the  doctor.  He  said  he  had  no  hope — that  he  was 
bound  to  die.  We  wrote  down  what  he  said,  and  have 
the  writing  here,  in  which  he  states  positively  that  two 
bearded  men  made  the  assault,  and  that  William  Man 
ning  is  not  guilty  " 

At  this  point  there  was  a  violent  uprising  of  coun 
sel  on  both  sides,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  that  the 
tumult  was  suppressed. 

' '  We  object !  We  move  to  strike  out  the  testi 
mony  !  "  shouted  the  four  attorneys  for  the  people  in  a 
loud  chorus. 

"Certainly,"  cried  the  court.  "The  evidence  is 
stricken  out.  It  is  improper  for  you,  Mr.  Witness,  to 
tell  the  contents  of  the  writing.  You  ought  to  have 
known  better." 


594  »  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"  He  does  know  better!  "  roared  Squabble.  "This 
evidence  is  not  competent.  I  've  no  doubt  that  de 
fendant's  attorneys  have  told  this  fellow  to  blurt  out 
his  say,  competent  or  incompetent,  before  we  could 
interpose  an  objection.  This  is  defying  the  law.  We 
think  the  court  should  rebuke  the  witness  and  the  de 
fendant's  attorneys." 

"  I  have  rebuked  the  witness,"  said  the  Judge.  "  I 
see  no  reason  for  rebuking  counsel.  I  can  not  believe 
they  would  be  guilty  of  such  unprofessional  conduct." 

Meanwhile  Billy  Johnson  had  seized  an  inkstand, 
with  the  manifest  intention  of  hurling  it  at  Mr.  Squab 
ble.  When  he  drew  back  his  arm,  further  motion  was 
prevented  by  the  energetic  grasp  of  Elizabeth's  hand. 
But,  alas  !  she  saved  Squabble's  skull  at  the  expense  of 
her  best  dress  The  contents  of  the  bottle  were  dis 
charged  on  her  bosom.  She  quietly  wiped  off  the 
fluid  with  her  handkerchief,  while  poor  Billy  Johnson 
made  a  profusion  of  apologies,  and  then  rushed  out  of 
the  court-room  to  a  dry-goods  store,  and  before  the 
trial  was  resumed,  returned  with  an  elegant  dress- 
pattern,  and,  with  many  additional  apologies,  deposited 
it  in  Elizabeth's  lap. 

Mr.  Hartman  offered  to  prove  by  the  witness,  and 
by  James  Anderson  and  Miss  Oakford,  that  Henry 
Anderson  made  dying  declarations  which  exculpated 
the  defendant,  and  inculpated  two  unknown  persons. 
Squabble  insisted  that  such  declarations,  if  made  at  all, 
which  he  did  not  admit  or  believe,  were  not  admissible 
on  the  part  of  defendant.  The  Judge  held  that  the 
objection  was  well  taken. 

"  We  want  the  record  to  show  our  offer  of  the 
evidence,"  said  Mr.  Hartman. 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  Judge. 

The  excitement  of  the  people  was  steadily  increas 
ing.  Interest  and  anxiety  were  manifested  in  every 
countenance.  "That's  an  outrageous  law,  if  it  is  the 
law,"  many  were  thinking.  "  If  a  dying  man  says 
the  defendant  murdered  him,  his  declaration  is  compe- 


THE    OTHER    SIDE    OF    THE    CASE.  595 

tent  evidence ;  but  if  he  says  the  defendant  did  n't 
murder  him,  his  declaration  is  not  evidence.  Down 
with  such  a  law  !  "  From  the  offer  to  make  the  proof, 
and  the  strenuous  objections  against  the  proof  by  the 
people's  attorneys,  a  great  many  inferred  that  it  must 
be  true  that  the  dying  man  had  declared  the  defendant 
innocent,  and  this  inference  was  almost  as  beneficial  to 
the  defendant  as  would  have  been  the  testimony  itself. 

A  recess  was  taken  till  one  o'clock,  at  which  hour 
a  middle-sized,  smooth-faced  man,  with  a  light  com 
plexion  and  a  restless  eye,  entered  the  court-room.  He 
carried  a  valise,  and  at  his  heels  was  a  lad  nearly  grown. 
The  two  sat  down  near  Mr.  Hartman  Then  Hal 
Butterfield  was  called  to  the  stand.  The  attorneys  for 
the  prosecution  had  been  engaged  in  earnest  conversa 
tion,  and  had  not  noticed  the  entrance  of  the  boy 
When  the  lad  stepped  forward  to  be  sworn,  Sawtheaire 
turned  deadly  pale.  He  drummed  nervously  on  the 
table  with  his  fingers,  and  then  begged  the  court  for  a 
moment's  consultation  with  the  witness.  It  was  an 
ill-advised  request,  but  the  wily  lawyer  was  unmanned 
for  the  moment,  as  he  saw  the  dangers  to  himself  multi 
plying  in  every  direction.  Mr,  Hartman  protested,  and 
the  court  ordered  him  to  go  on  with  the  examination. 

"I  protest  against  the  examination  of  such  wit 
nesses,"  said  Sawtheaire,  trembling  with  rage  and  fear. 
"These  attorneys  have  raked  all  creation  for  crimi 
nals  to  come  here  and  swear  a  guilty  man  out  of  the 
halter." 

' '  Do  you  know  what  this  witness  will  testify  to, 
Mr.  Sawtheaire  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Hartman,  with  an  exas 
perating  smile. 

"No,  I  do  not,"  said  Sawtheaire,  bracing  up.  "I 
suppose  you  have  stuffed  him  for  the  occasion.  I  know 
he  's  the  kind  of  a  character  to  be  stuffed,  and  I  be 
lieve  you  are  the  kind  of  a  lawyer  to  do  the  stuffing." 

"We'll  not  quarrel  about  that  now,  my  kind 
friend,"  said  Mr.  Hartman.  "This  is  not  the  time  or 
place  to  settle  our  little  personal  animosities." 


596  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

While  this  colloquy  was  going  on  Billy  Johnson 
passed  around  to  the  other  side  of  the  judge's  stand 
and  held  a  brief  consultation  with  the  Judge,  which  re 
sulted  in  the  Judge's  beckoning  the  Sheriff  to  him  and 
whispering  a  few  words  in  that  functionary's  ear.  Some 
of  the  crowd  who  were  watching  this  by-play  saw  the 
Sheriff  go  to  Harvey  Holly  and  lay  his  hand  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  then  saw  the  latter  follow  the  Sheriff  in 
to  the  bar  and  take  a  seat  there  under  the  supervision 
of  one  of  the  deputies. 

Hal  Butterfield  testified  as  follows  : 

"I  am  sixteen  years  old.  I  know  Lyman  Sawthe- 
aire,  William  Manning,  Mayor  Trinkenviellager,  Har 
vey  Holly,  and  Joe  Jimson.  I  was  in  Wellington  for  a 
short  time  in  the  Summer  of  1876.  No  matter  where  I 
came  from  ;  I  was  here,  but  only  for  a  short  time.  One 
day  Lyman  Sawtheaire  came  to  me  and  said  he  wanted 
to  see  me  that  afternoon  at  his  office.  I  went  to  his 
office,  and  found  him  there  alone.  He  locked  the  door, 
and  then  told  me  he  was  running  for  State's  attorney, 
and  was  sure  to  be  elected,  and  that  when  he  got  into 
that  office  he  would  have  things  in  his  own  hands,  and 
would  send  people  to  the  penitentiary  when  they 
did  n't  do  to  suit  him.  I  told  him  I  knew  all  about 
prosecuting  attorneys  —  that  they  were  worse  than  a 
starving  bear,  and  that  he  could  bet  I  was  n't  going 
to  get  at  loggerheads  with  such  fellows,  if  I  could  help 
it.  He  said  there  was  something  some  of  his  friends 
wanted  to  get  a  boy  to  do  for  them — just  for  a  joke  — 
but  they  did  n't  want  anything  said  about  it.  He  said 
there  was  n't  any  harm  in  it,  and  they  would  give  a  boy 
twenty  dollars  if  he  would  do  it,  and  then  never  men 
tion  it  to  a  living  soul.  He  wanted  to  know  what  I 
thought  about  it.  I  told  him  I  would  do  most  any 
thing  for  twenty  dollars,  for  that  was  a  heap  of  money, 
and  wanted  to  know  how  long  it  would  take.  Only  a 
few  minutes,  he  said.  I  told  him  that  would  beat 
blacking  boots  all  to  pieces,  and  I  was  his  man.  He 
asked  me  where  I  had  come  from,  and  I  told  him  I 


THE    OTHER    SIDE    OF    THE    CASE.  597 

used  to  live  at  Buffalo.  He  asked  me  how  long  I  was 
going  to  stay  at  Wellington,  and  said  his  friends 
wouldn't  give  the  job  to  a  lad  wlTo  was  going  to  hang 
'round  Wellington — that  they  wanted  some  fellow  who 
would  go  away  and  stay  away  ;  that  the  fellow  they 
were  going  to  play  the  joke  on  would  n't  take  a  joke, 
but  would  get  mad  and  make  a  great  fuss  about  it,  and 
they  wanted  somebody  who  would  go  away  and  stay 
away,  and  keep  mum  till  the  day  of  judgment.  That 's 
what  he  said.  He  grinned,  and  said  I  could  tell  on 
the  day  of  judgment;  but  if  T  told  in  this  world,  my 
day  of  judgment  would  come  on  pretty  fast.  Then  he 
told  me  what  to  do.  He  said  for  me  to  go  to  William 
Manning's  office  about  dark,  and  if  he  was  n't  there,  to 
hunt  him  up  wherever  he  was,  and  tell  him  Silas 
Jenkins  was  a-dying,  and  wanted  to  see  him  about  his 
will.  He  said  for  me  to  keep  in  the  shade  if  I  could, 
and  to  pull  my  hat  down  over  my  eyes  if  there  was  a 
light,  so  that  Manning  could  not  see  me  very  well ;  and 
if  he  asked  me  my  name,  to  tell  him  it  was  Johnny 
Solan,  and  to  tell  him  I  had  been  working  for  Mr. 
Jenkins  only  a  few  days.  Then  he  told  me  to  come  to 
Mayor  Trinkenviellager's  office  and  tell  what  I  had 
done,  and  get  my  pay. 

"So  about  dusk  I  went  up  the  stairway  to  Mr. 
Manning's  office.  I  could  n't  see  any  signs  of  light, 
and  thought  he  wasn't  there.  I  knocked  on  the  door, 
and  some  one  called  out  for  me  to  come  in.  I  talked 
as  bad  as  I  could.  'Is  this  yere  Mr.  Manning?'  says  I. 
'Yes, 'says  he;  'what's  wanted?'  Then  I  repeated 
what  I  'd  been  told  to  say.  He  said  for  me  to  tell 
the  folks  he  'd  be  along  inside  of  an  hour.  I  stood 
around  in  the  shade  till  I  saw  Mr.  Manning  come  down 
from  his  office,  and  then  went  to  the  Mayor's  office,  and 
gave  four  raps,  as  I  'd  been  told  to  do.  The  door  was 
softly  opened  and  they  let  me  into  the  room.  There 
were  just  two  men  there — Sawtheaire  and  the  Mayor. 
I  told  them  what  I  had  done  and  what  Manning  had 
said.  Sawtheaire  gave  me  thirty  dollars  instead  of 


A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

twenty,  and  told  me  to  keep  my  mouth  shut  or  he  'd 
cut  my  throat.  I  swore  I  would  n't  tell,  and  left  the 
room." 

Now  the  testimony  of  this  witness  had  been  inter 
rupted  persistently  from  first  to  last  with  a  multitude 
of  objections,  some  of  which  had  been  sustained  and 
others  of  which  had  been  overruled.  When  Mr.  Hart- 
man  undertook  to  show  what  the  boy  had  done  after 
he  left  the  Mayor's  office,  and  how  the  defendant's 
attorneys  had  found  out  what  he  knew,  objections  were 
madej  and  the  evidence  held  inadmissible.  So  Mr. 
Hartman  turned  the  witness  over  to  Mr.  Squabble,  in 
the  hope  that  the  latter  would  call  out,  by  an  ill-advised 
cross-examination,  all  that  he  himself  had  not  been 
permitted  to  show.  This  proved  to  be  a  well-founded 
hope.  Mr.  Squabble  examined  the  boy  for  half  an 
hour. '  He  badgered  the  lad,  worried  him,  tried  to 
drive  him  first  into  one  corner,  then  into  another,  and 
then  openly  accused  him  of  lying.  But  the  boy  was 
able  to  take  care  of  himself,  and  even  considered  the 
charge  of  having  fabricated  his  testimony  as  a  very 
high  compliment  to  the  powers  of  his  imagination. 
Having  failed  to  entrap  the  witness,  Mr.  Squabble  un 
dertook  to  drag  to  light  some  disreputable  act  of  his 
life  to  his  discredit  as  a  witness.  He  began  as  to  what 
occurred  after  the  witness  left  the  Mayor's  office,  and 
went  so  far  in  this  direction  that  he  found  he  could  not 
get  out  more  successfully  by  returning  than  by  going 
on.  Consequently  he  went  on.  The  boy  testified  that 
he  strolled  about  the  streets  for  a  while  till  he  saw  two 
disreputable  young  men,  with  whom  he  had  engaged  at 
poker  on  two  or  three  occasions,  start  down  the  alley 
towards  the  rear  of  the  Mayor's  office.  He  understood 
the  meaning  of  this  movement,  and  followed  his  two 
friends.  He  heard  some  one  coming,  and  concealed 
himself  till  the  sound  of  footsteps  had  ceased.  He 
thought  that  there  was  more  than  one  of  them,  but 
was  not  in  a  position  to  determine,  and  in  fact  could 
not  tell  where  they  went.  He  joined  Bert  Berry  and 


THE   OTHER    SIDE    OF    THE    CASE.  599 

Ace  Mattock  and  some  other  fellow,  and  as  they  settled 
down  to  their  game,  Bert  remarked  that  he  supposed 
there  was  a  game  going  on  in  the  Mayor's  office,  and 
told  what  he  had  seen.  The  next  day  the  witness 
heard  of  the  murder,  and  concluded  to  seek  employ 
ment  elsewhere,  and  made  his  way  gradually  back  to 
Buffalo,  where  he  had  lived  most  of  the  time  till  called 
to  Wellington  as  a  witness. 

"Then, "thundered  Squabble,  endeavoring  to  make 
up  in  sound  what  he  had  lost  in  other  respects,  and  ex 
asperated  by  the  peculiar  smile  that  played  around  the 
mouth  of  the  Judge,  and  at  sundry  winks  of  dis 
interested  lawyers  who  were  sitting  in  the  bar  listening 
to  the  proceedings,  ' '  then,  sir,  when  Bert  Berry  and 
Ace  Mattock  say  they  never  told  any  one  about  this 
matter  till  last  Summer,  when  they  told  it  to  a  black- 
whiskered  stranger,  they  lied,  did  they?" 

' '  Well  now,  you  can  have  it  as  you  like.  One  or 
the  other  of  us  has  lied  about  that  sure." 

Squabble  rallied  his  forces  for  a  final  charge. 
"Will  you  kindly  inform  this  jury,  my  precious  child, 
how  the  defendant,  or  his  attorneys,  found  out  what 
you  would  swear  to  in  this  case?" 

This  was  what  Mr.  Hartman  wanted.  He  nudged 
Manning  and  tramped  on  Billy  Johnson  's  foot.  Before 
he  desisted,  Squabble  called  forth  the  explanation 
which  Mr.  Hartman  had  vainly  sought  to  prove  in  the 
first  instance.  Then  with  a  magnificent  wave  of  the 
hand,  Squabble  said:  "  You  can  go,  sir.  You  can  go. 
I  despair  of  dragging  the  truth  out  of  you."  Saw- 
theaire  looked  sick ;  Wriggle  twirled  his  cane ; 
Dabble  was  busily  engaged  in  scanning  the  tip  of  his 
nose. 

The  explanation  was  as  follows  : 

"  Last  Summer  I  was  arrested  at  Buffalo.  I  wanted 
to  get  Mr.  Hartman  to  defend  me,  and  so  the  officer 
took  me  to  see  him.  Mr.  Hartman  was  busy,  and  I 
had  to  wait  for  my  turn.  While  sitting  there,  Mr. 
Manning  came  in.  I  knew  him  at  once.  He  and  Mr. 


6OO  A   SUBtLE   ADVERSARY. 

Hartman  shook  hands  and  held  a  short  conversation, 
after  which  Mr.  Manning  left  the  office,  saying  he 
would  return  in  an  hour  or  two.  Mr.  Hartman  said 
to  rr\e,  'You  know  that  man.'  'No,  I  don't,'  I  said. 
'  You  can  't  deceive  me,  boy,'  he  said.  '  I  'm  used  to 
watching  such  fellows  as  you,  and  I  know  you  know 
that  man.'  Then  he  told  me  if  I  would  tell  him  all  I 
knew  about  Manning  he  would  try  my  case  for  nothing. 
So  I  told  him  what  I  knew,  and  he  got  me  out  of  my 
scrape." 

Mr.  Hartman  bent  forward  and  whispered  to  Mr. 
Dabble :  ' '  We  desire  to  return  to  Mr.  Squabble  a 
unanimous  vote  of  thanks  for  his  highly  satisfactory 
cross-examination  of  this  witness."  Mr.  Dabble  was 
too  busy  inspecting  the  extremity  of  his  nose  to  reply 
to  this  remark. 

"We  desire  to  call  this  gentleman  as  our  next 
witness.  WTill  you  arise  and  be  sworn,  sir?"  said  Mr. 
Hartman.  The  smooth-faced  gentleman  arose,  and 
held  up  his  hand  to  be  sworn. 

"What  is  your  name?"  asked  Judge  Snapper,  as 
the  witness  took  the  stand 

"  Well,  your  honor,  I  must  confess  that  I  am 
known  by  a  variety  of  names.  But  my  real  name  at 
Buffalo,  where  I  live,  is  Thompson  Winterboom." 

An  indefinable  dread  took  possession  of  two  gentle 
men  in  the  room.  One  of  them,  seated  under  the 
espionage  of  the  Sheriff,  a  very  honorable  saloon 
keeper  named  Holly,  whose  cheek  was  of  brass  and 
whose  heart  was  of  iron,  now  trembled  with  dismay. 
He  had  no  recollection  of  ever  seeing  Thompson 
Winterboom  before,  and  yet  there  was  something  about 
his  face  and  form  that  seemed  a  premonition  of  direful 
evil,  of  the  impending  day  of  doom  The  other 
gentleman  who  was  experiencing  a  similar  feeling  of 
trepidation  was  the  most  honorable  State's  attorney  of 
Callitso  County.  But  Sawtheaire  braced  up  and  bore 
himself  with  wonderful  coolness  under  the  circum 
stances. 


THE   OTHER   SIDE   OF   THE   CASfe.  6ol 

"Have  you  ever  been  in  Wellington  before?" 
asked  Mr.  Hartman. 

"  I  was  here  last  Summer." 

"  By  what  name  were  you  known  here  ?  " 

"Willis  Derby." 

Sawtheaire  and  Holly  started  as  if  they  had  been 
struck.  Bert  Berry  and  Ace  Mattock  opened  their 
mouths  and  eyes  in  wonder. 

"Perhaps,  if  I  should  resume  my  Wellington  face 
and  features,  it  would  enable  some  gentlemen  here  to 
recognize  an  old  friend." 

The  court  granted  the  witness  leave  to  make  his 
toilet.  The  necessary  articles  were  taken  from  the 
valise  and  properly  adjusted,  and  the  smooth-faced 
Winterboom  was  metamorphosed  into  the  black- 
whiskered  Willis  Derby.  Bert  Berry  almost  gasped 
for  breath.  Involuntarily  he  exclaimed  :  "  That 's  him 
as  wormed  it  out  of  me  !  "  The  Sheriff  shouted  for 
order,  the  Judge  threatened  to  fine  the  miscreant  who 
had  dared  to  testify  without  permission,  while  the  boy 
cowered  down  behind  a  fat  man  in  front  of  him. 
Holly  wore  a  look  of  utter  despair.  Sawtheaire, 
though  perspiring  like  a  restive  horse,  otherwise  main 
tained  his  stolid,  dogged  appearance.  He  was  evi 
dently  determined  to  make  a  bold  front,  and  at  last 
to  die  like  a  Spartan,  though  not  in  so  good  a  cause. 

There  was  a  running  fight  kept  up  between  the 
opposing  forces  while  this  witness  was  testifying,  but 
the  substance  of  his  testimony  was  as  follows : 

"My  business  is  that  of  a  detective.  I  was 
employed  by  Mr.  Hartman,  as  attorney  for  William 
Manning,  some  time  last  Summer,  to  come  to  Welling 
ton  and  investigate  the  circumstances  connected  with 
the  murder  ot  Henry  Anderson.  The  only  clews  I  had 
were  the  story  of  Hal  Butterfield,  as  told  to  Mr. 
Hartman,  and  by  him  related  to  me,  and  the  history 
of  Mr.  Manning's  life  in  Wellington,  as  related  to  me 
by  that  gentleman  himself.  I  was  told  that  I  could 
trust  Marion  Spence  and  Miss  Elizabeth  Oakford  as 


6O2  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

true  friends,  who  would  help  me  and  give  me  a  chance 
to  unravel  the  plot,  and  at  the  same  time  maintain  a 
discreet  silence  till  the  innocence  of  Manning  could  be 
demonstrated  and  the  time  for  them  to  speak  had  come. 

"  I  came  here  with  plenty  of  money,  and  set  up  in 
business,  so  to  speak,  as  a  sport.  I  was  known  as  a 
saloon  man  and  a  poker  player.  The  temperance 
women  were  after  my  scalp  two  or  three  times,  and  the 
city  attorney  threatened  to  prosecute  me  for  gambling. 
But  I  persisted  in  my  course.  Taking  the  clew  fur 
nished  by  Hal  Butterfield's  story,  I  concluded  to 
assume  that  to  be  true  first,  and  follow  it  out  and  see 
what  it  would  lead  to.  I  met  Miss  Oakford  privately 
one  evening,  so  that  she  could  not  be  charged  with 
holding  communication  with  a  sport,  and  showed  her 
Manning's  letter  of  introduction  and  recommendation, 
and  told  her  what  I  knew  about  the  case  and  what  I 
proposed  to  do.  She  promised  to  assist  me  in  every 
way  possible.  I  met  Spence  in  the  same  manner, 
made  similar  explanations  to  him,  and  received  from 
him  a  similar  promise.  I  formed  the  acquaintance  of 
Lyman  Sawtheaire,  Harvey  Holly,  and  many  of  their 
associates.  These  were  all  hale  fellows  well  met  with 
a  blackleg,  under  the  cover  of  darkness  and  secrecy.  I 
drank  with  them  and  gambled  with  them.  We  played 
poker,  sometimes  in  the  lawyer's  office,  sometimes  in 
a  room  in  the  rear  of  Holly's  saloon.  I  managed  the 
matter  so  that  they  generally  won  something  from  me 
during  the  course  of  the  evening.  I  boasted  to  them 
of  what  a  hard  case  I  had  been.  I  told  them  how  I 
had  killed  my  men,  and  had  never  yet  been  convicted. 

"One  evening  we  had  a  new  companion,  a  man 
named  Joe  Jimson.  I  treated  him  to  the  same  dishes 
I  had  been  serving  for  the  others.  I  found  Jimson  to 
be  very  fond  of  the  cup — inclined  to  get  full,  some 
times  to  get  beastly  drunk — and  did  not  scruple  to  fill 
him  with  drink  whenever  I  found  opportunity.  The 
three  men  seemed  to  be  cronies.  I  suspected  them 
from  the  beginning,  and  watched  them  all  closely. 


THE    OTHER    SIDE    OF    THE    CASE. 

One  day  1  went  hunting,  and  induced  Jimson  to  go 
with  me.  We  took  the  road  leading  south  from  town. 
When  we  came  to  the  swamp  I  stopped  the  team  I 
was  driving,  and  got  out  my  flask  of  whisky.  Jimson 
drank  without  stint.  I  merely  moistened  my  throat. 
The  fellow  had  already  been  drinking  freely  that  day, 
and  the  draught  from  my  flask  had  a  mellowing  effect 
upon  him.  I  told  him  I  was  bound  to  see  the  place 
where  Anderson  was  murdered.  He  said  the  spot  had 
often  been  pointed  out  to  him,  but  manifested  some 
reluctance  about  talking  on  the  subject,  and  some  disin 
clination  to  show  me  the  place.  For  these  reasons  I 
was  all  the  more  determined  to  press  my  investigation 
as  far  as  possible.  He  showed  me  the  place  where  the 
deed  was  supposed  to  have  been  done.  'Now,'  said 
I,  '  I  'm  full  of  curiosity  about  such  jobs  as  this.  I  've 
killed  my  own  cart-load,  you  can  bet,  and  if  there  are 
any  modern  improvements  in  the  business,  I  want  to 
know  what  they  are.  Show  me  the  place  where  the 
body  was  dragged  to.'  He  said  the  swamp  was 
muddy.  He  evinced  clearly  an  unwillingness  to  go 
there.  '  I  suppose  the  place  has  been  pointed  out  to 
you,'  I  said,  'and  you  can  show  me  about  where  it  is.' 
He  said  it  had,  and  finally  he  did  show  me  the  place. 
I  dropped  a  notched  stick  I  had  been  playing  with  at 
the  spot  pointed  out  to  me,  and  we  returned  to  the 
road. 

4 '  I  plied  him  with  my  flask  as  we  drove  farther  south. 
I  gave  him  a  detailed  account  of  some  of  my  alleged 
homicides,  and  led  him  on  till  at  last,  as  young  Berry 
says,  I  wormed  out  of  him  a  confession  that  he  knew 
something  of  the  inside  history  of  Anderson's  murder; 
and  then,  after  much  questioning,  an  unequivocal 
acknowledgment  that  he  himself  was  one  of  the  mur 
derers.  It  was  hard  to  work  the  old  man,  but  I  suc 
ceeded  at  last.  I  praised  him  for  his  nerve,  told  him  I 
thought  more  of  him  than  ever  before,  and  then  ob 
tained  from  him  a  detailed  account  of  the  whole  affair, 
in  which  he  stated  that  Sawtheaire,  Trinkenviellager, 


604  A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

Holly,  Bechdold  and  himself  were  the  conspirators,  and 
that  Holly  and  himself  committed  the  assault  at  the 
swamp.  We  spent  the  afternoon  together.  I  promised 
to  keep  his  secret,  and  he  promised  to  keep  mine. 
About  dark  we  returned  to  Wellington. 

"  He  told  me  that  the  intention  was  to  kill  Manning, 
not  Anderson  ;  that  Manning  had  made  a  desperate 
fight  against  the  saloons,  and  was  getting  ready  to 
prosecute  some  of  the  saloon-keepers  for  alleged  con 
spiracy  to  run  off  witnesses  in  a  certain  case,  and  that 
they  resolved  to  get  him  out  to  the  swamp  after  dark 
and  kill  him  ;  but  by  mistake,  in  carrying  this  conspiracy 
into  effect,  killed  Anderson  instead." 

The  court  refused  to  permit  the  witness  to  state 
what  Jimson  had  said,  except  as  his  confession  would 
prove  his  own  guilt.  "These  statements  can  not  be 
received  as  evidence  against  the  others,"  said  the  Judge. 
However,  the  examination  was  pressed  so  vigorously 
sometimes  as  to  bring  out  statements  not  wholly  within 
the  ruling  of  the  court. 

"  How  to  get  the  admission  from  the  other  parties 
was  the  puzzle  to  me,"  the  witness  further  testified. 
"Two  or  three  days  afterwards  I  secured  two  rooms  at 
the  hotel,  with  a  door  between  them,  and  invited  my 
friends  to  my  room  for  our  favorite  game  of  poker.  I 
had  plenty  to  drink,  enough  for  the  crowd,  however 
thirsty,  and  the  three  were  on  hand  at  the  appointed 
hour.  We  occupied  the  front  room.  There  were  lights 
in  that  room,  but  none  in  the  other.  The  door  between 
the  two  was  slightly  ajar.  Two  citizens  of  Wellington 
were  concealed  in  the  other  room — Marion  Spence  and 
Miss  Elizabeth  Oakford.  Sawtheaire  made  some  in 
quiry  about  that  room,  picked  up  a  lamp,  walked  into 
the  room,  looked  around,  and  then  came  back.  He 
seemed  to  be  entirely  satisfied.  He  had  no  idea  that  1 
was  trying  to  entrap  him.  Had  he  looked  under  the 
bed,  he  would  have  seen  Marion  Spence.  Had  he 
looked  behind  the  bureau,  he  would  have  found  Miss 
Oakford. 


THE    OTHER    SIDE    OF   THE    CASE.  605 

"We  talked,  played,  and  paid  our  respects  to  the 
bottle.  We  had  a  high  time.  I  was  the  loser,  my 
friends  were  the  winners.  I  told  them  of  some  of  my 
deeds;  of  fortunes  lost  and  won  at  cards;  of  shooting 
one  man  over  the  card-table,  and  waylaying,  killing 
and  robbing  another.  Holly  said,  with  an  oath,  that  I 
must  be  the  devil  himself.  I  remarked  that  I  was  pre 
pared  to  dispute  the  honors  of  deviltry  with  the  old 
gentleman,  or  with  Sawtheaire  or  Jimson,  for  that  mat 
ter,  though  it  was  hard  to  tell  which  of  us  would  be 
entitled  to  the  first  premium. 

"'Jimson  tells  me,  Holly, '  said  I,  shuffling  the 
cards,  '  that  you  and  he  killed  Anderson,  and  that  Saw 
theaire  and  others  were  in  the  plot.' 

"  'The  thunder  he  does! '  exclaimed  Holly,  in  sur 
prise. 

"  'The  infernal  fool! '  muttered  Sawtheaire,  glaring 
at  Jimson  angrily. 

"I  told  them  that  they  had  just  as  well  own  up; 
that  I  was  their  friend;  that  I  had  learned  from  Jimson 
that  Manning  was  the  man  whose  scalp  they  were  after, 
and  that  they  had  killed  Anderson  through  mistake. 
Then  Jimson  admitted  confidentially  that  he  had  told 
me  the  whole  story.  Sawtheaire  and  Holly  abused  Jim- 
son  roundly;  but  finding  that  the  cat  was  out,  and, 
having  no  fear  of  me,  they  talked  over  their  respective 
parts  of  the  conspiracy  with  considerable  freedom. 
Both  of  them  were  pretty  well  under  the  influence  of 
liquor,  and  flushed  with  their  success  at  cards,  or  out 
of  an  abundance  of  caution  they  might  have  denied 
the  whole  story.  Sawtheaire  did  say  once  that  walls 
had  ears.  He  opened  the  door  and  looked  out  into  the 
hall.  But  they  seemed  to  have  entire  confidence  in  me 
as  being  a  first-class  thug,  and  to  have  no  fear  of  my 
giving  them  away.  However,  we  had  fallen  upon  a 
dismal  theme,  and  the  party  broke  up  earlier  than  we 
had  expected  when  we  met.  After  the  way  w«is  clear, 
Mr.  Spence  and  Miss  Oakford  went  to  their  respective 
homes. 


606  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

"Afterwards  I  went  to  the  swamp,  and  made  a 
search  at  the  place  where  I  had  dropped  the  stick  for 
anything  that  might  have  been  dropped  there.  It  was  a 
dry  season,  and  the  water  in  the  swamp  was  low.  After 
a  long  search  I  found  this  gold  sleeve-button."  The 
witness  produced  the  button  from  his  valise,  and  handed 
it  to  Mr.  Hartman.  Upon  it  the  letters  L.  S.  were 
plainly  visible.  At  the  production  of  the  button  Saw- 
theaire's  countenance  took  another  change  for  the  worse. 

Mr.  Hartman  arose  and  stated  that  there  were  some 
other  matters  about  which  he  desired  to  examine  the 
witness,  especially  the  conspiracy  entered  into  on  Fri- 
^day  night  to  force  a  continuance  by  procuring  the 
absence  of  certain  witnesses,  and  that  he  would  like  the 
privilege  of  recalling  the  witness  for  this  purpose  at  a 
later  time  in  the  trial.  The  attorneys  for  the  people 
protested  that  they  were  denied  a  similar  request  when 
Mr.  Sawtheaire  was  on  the  stand,  and  that  what  was 
fair  for  one  ought  to  be  for  the  other.  The  Judge 
stated  that  ordinarily  the  indulgence  asked  for  would 
not  be  granted,  but  that  in  the  extraordinary  condition 
of  the  case  he  would  permit  Mr.  Hartman  to  pursue 
that  course  if  he  desired. 

The  cross-examination  was  directed  mainly  to  an 
abuse  of  detectives  in  general  and  of  this  one  in  par 
ticular.  The  witness  admitted  that  he  had  lied  repeat 
edly  to, Sawtheaire,  Holly  and  Jimson,  while  at  Wel 
lington  ;  and  when  asked  how  he  expected  any  juror  to 
believe  the  testimony  of  a  man  whose  business  required 
him  to  be  a  professional  liar,  he  said  that  the  jurors 
would  have  to  believe  or  disbelieve  him  as  they  saw 
proper,  for  he  could  not  control  them  in  that  respect. 
He  stated  that  detectives  were  often  unprincipled 
men,  and  that  he  had  often  thought  of  quitting  the  dis 
agreeable  business.  He  would  not  advise  any  young 
man  to  become  a  detective,  for  lying  and  dissembling 
were  the  means  by  which  they  carried  on  their  busi 
ness,  and  he  was  not  prepared  to  affirm  that  the  end 
justified  the  means. 


THE    OTHER    SIDE    OF    THE    CASE.  607 

Marion  Spence  was  called  to  the  stand,  and  corrob 
orated  Mr.  Winterboom  as  to  what  was  said  and  done 
at  the  hotel.  The  meanness  of  a  spy  was  particularly 
enlarged  upon  in  the  cross-examination.  The  witness 
said  he  had  no  defense  of  himself  to  make ;  he  had 
hidden  himself  under  the  bed,  and  had  heard  the  con 
versation  as  he  had  given  it.  He  thought  he  was  act 
ing  for  the  furtherance  of  justice,  and  if  he  had  dis 
graced  himself,  he  supposed  his  neighbors  and  acquaint 
ances  would  .advise  him  of  the  fact. 

"We  don't  want  any  speeches  from  you,"  thun 
dered  Squabble.  "You  used  to  run  a  saloon,  I  be 
lieve  ?" 

' '  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  admit  it ;  and  that  you  used 
to  patronize  my  bar." 

"  And  now  you  have  reformed?  "  asked  the  lawyer 
sarcastically. 

"  I  have  quit  the  saloon  business,"  the  witness  said 
as  he  left  the  stand. 

Elizabeth  Oakford  was  called,  but  did  not  respond. 
She  had  left  the  court-room,  unobserved. 

Noah  Hasty  was  shown  the  sleeve-button  which  had 
been  produced  by  the  detective,  and,  after  having 
examined  it,  stated  that  it  was  one  of  two  buttons 
sold  by  him  to  Lyman  STawtheaire  in  the  Spring  of 
1876.  The  witness  rememt>ered  the  fact  very  well. 
The  buttons  were  in  the  shape  of  a  keg,  and  as  Saw- 
theaire  selected  them,  he  said,  with  a  dry  smile,  that 
he  was  running  for  office.  The  witness  engraved  the 
buttons  with  Sawtheaire's  initials. 

Now  an  unusual  commotion  arose  at  the  door. 
"Stand  out  of  Jhe  way!  Stand  back!  stand  back, 
please!"  cried  the  firm  voice  of  Elizabeth  Oakford. 
Then  the  Sheriff  and  his  deputies  were  heard  shouting 
for  order,  and  were  seen  pushing  their  way  first  in  one 
direction  and  then  in  another,  as  if  they  did  not  know 
what  to  do  or  which  way  to  turn.  The  excitement  of 
the  crowd  was  intense.  Men  and  women  forgot  the 
dignity  of  the  court  and  the  etiquette  of  the  place,  and 


608  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

struggled  to  their  feet  and  climbed  upon  chairs  and 
benches  that  they  might  see.  The  confusion  increased. 
Judge  Snapper  began  to  fear  that  a  mob  was  coming 
to  take  charge  of  the  case.  He  rose  to  his  feet,  that  he 
might  take  his  bearings  and  assist  in  quieting  the 
crowd. 

"Stand  back  !  stand  back!  "  came  from  the  lips  of 
the  resolute  woman  as  she  forced  her  way  down  the 
aisle  through  the  crowd,  and  made  room  for  the  strong 
men  behind  her  who  were  carrying  a  bed  on  which  was 
stretched  the  ghostly,  the  emaciated,  the  dying  Joe 
Jimson.  He  had  come  to  right  the  wrong  he  had  done, 
and  save  an  innocent  man  from  the  halter.  Pressing 
close  behind  the  bed,  sobbing  and  moaning,  was  the 
faithful  wife  of  the  sick  man.  "  Oh,  this  will  kill  him  ! 
this  will  kill  him  !  "  she  groaned,  wringing  her  hands. 
But  it  was  certain  before  he  was  borne  from  his  home 
that  every  effort  to  save  his  life  would  be  unavailing, 
and  that  a  few  more  hours  at  most  would  terminate 
the  earthly  career  of  this  repentant  sinner.  Besides, 
it  was  at  his  own  imperative  request  that  this  course 
had  been  taken.  He  had  learned  that  the  trial  was 
in  progress.  After  hearing  that  fact  he  saw  no  peace. 
He  had  sins  enough  to  account  for,  he  said  piteously, 
and  he  could  not  go  into  his  Maker's  presence  respon 
sible  for  the  hanging  of 'an  innocent  man.  He  had 
killed  three  men  !  How  could  he  escape  the  damna 
tion  of  hell  ?  He  must  save  Manning  !  He  must  be 
taken  to  the  court-house  !  He  must  be  heard !  Every 
effort  to  quiet  him  was  in  vain.  Elizabeth  assured  him 
he  would  not  be  needed  ;  but  even  this  assurance  did 
not  quiet  him  At  noon,  with  the  strength  of  despera 
tion,  he  flung  himself  from  his  bed,  and  resisted,  like  a 
madman,  the  strong  arms  of  those  who  sought  to  re 
strain  him ;  and  it  was  only  upon  their  solemn  promise 
that  they  would  bear  him  to  the  court-house  that  after 
noon  to  testify  that  he  submitted  to  be  led  back  to  his 
bed  by  his  attendants.  Elizabeth  was  sent  for.  She 
advised  yielding  to  his  request.  He  must  die  within  a 


THE   OTHER    SIDE    OF   THE    CASE.  609 

few  hours  at  the  most.  His  end  would  be  more  peace 
ful  if  he  could  have  the  cheering  consciousness  that  he 
had  at  last  done  what  he  could  to  save  the  innocent 
and  to  bring  merited  punishment  upon  the  guilty. 
And  thus  it  happened  that,  at  this  opportune  moment, 
amidst  great  confusion  and  with  great  difficulty,  the 
sick  man  was  borne  into  the  court-room,  and  laid  on 
his  bed  upon  a  table  which  was  quickly  cleared  and 
placed  by  the  witness-stand  for  that  purpose. 

Holly  now  knew  that  all  was  over.  At  last  he  was 
completely  broken  down.  He  sat  with  his  elbow  on 
the  table  and  his  face  in  his  hand.  Sawtheaire  also 
knew  that  he  was  doomed ;  but  his  cold,  impassive  ex 
terior  betrayed  but  slight  indications  of  the  despair  and 
fear  within. 

Elizabeth  held  up  the  hand  of  the  dying  man  while 
the  oath  was  solemnly  administered.  The  commotion 
in  the  room  ceased.  Even  the  faintest  whisper  could 
be  heard  from  the  door  to  the  judge's  stand.  The 
balmy  air  and  the  sunshine  had  revived  poor  Joe  Jim- 
son,  and  the  excitement  of  the  occasion  acted  upon 
him  like  wine.  Liquor  was  offered  him  as  a  stimulant, 
but  with  a  shudder  he  motioned  away  the  hand  that 
held  the  cup.  When  he  began,  he  seemed  to  want  to 
make  a  full  confession  of  the  sins  of  a  life-time,  and  it 
was  with  difficulty  that  he  was  limited  to,  what  was 
proper  evidence  in  the  case  on  trial.  At  times  he 
paused  for  breath  and  seemed  to  be  almost  gone ;  then 
he  recovered  himself  and  went  on  with  his  testimony, 
lie  spoke  with  difficulty,  and  yet  with  more  distinct 
ness  and  energy  than  would  have  been  deemed  possible 
for  one  in  his  distressed  and  weakened  condition.  Oc 
casionally  Mr.  Squabble  made  an  objection,  but  Saw 
theaire  seemed  to  be  utterly  indifferent ;  he  uttered  no 
word,  made  no  objection. 

The  witness  gave  a  detailed  account  of  the  con 
spiracy,  and  the  parts  taken  therein  by  the  several 
conspirators,  as  these  have  been  given  in  previous 
pages  of  this  history.  His  testimony  corroborated  the 


6lO  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

defendant  and  the  other  witnesses  for  the  defense 
wherever  it  touched  upon  the  same  points.  He  stated 
that  the  conspirators  were  Sawtheaire,  Holly,  Trinken- 
viellager  and  Bechdold,  and  that  he  himself  was  called 
in  by  them  to  help  carry  into  effect  their  murderous 
designs ;  that  one  object  of  the  attempted  assassination 
of  Manning  was  to  remove  out  of  the  way  an  active 
antagonist  of  the  saloons.  He  said  that  Holly  and 
himself  were  the  men  who  were  seen  to  climb  in 
at  the  window  of  the  Mayor's  office  on  the  night 
of  the  murder;  that  they  had  been  at  the  swamp 
and  killed  a  man,  thinking  they  were  killing  Man 
ning,  and  had  returned  according  to  arrangement 
to  the  Mayor's  office.  In  reference  to  what  oc 
curred  at  the  swamp,  he  said  that  he  and  Holly, 
after  killing  their  man,  as  they  supposed,  heard  the  ap 
proach  of  a  horse,,  and  hastily  dragged  the  body  into 
the  swamp ;  that  the  horseman  stopped  near  where  the 
deed  had  been  done,  and  then  dismounted  from  his 
horse;  that  the  victim  groaned  just  about  this  time, 
and  the  rider  probably  heard  the  sound — at  any  rate, 
he  began  lighting  matches  and  searching  the  road ; 
that  as  the  fitful  light  flickered  across  his  face  they 
recognized  him  as  William  Manning,  and  learned  that 
they  had  killed  the  wrong  man  ;  that,  as  Manning  rode 
away,  he  fired  off  his  revolver  at  the  very  place  where 
they  were  crouching  down  in  the  slime  of  the  swamp, 
and  the  ball  passed  through  Holly's  right  ear.  The 
witness  said  that  he  and  Holly  thereupon  fled  to  Wel 
lington  and  entered  the  Mayor's  office,  and  gave  Saw 
theaire  and  Trinkenviellager  a  hurried  account  of  what 
had  been  done ;  that  they  changed  their  clothes  ;  that 
Sawtheaire  then  said  suspicion  must  be  directed  to 
William  Manning,  and  left  the  office  for  William  Man 
ning's  office,  to  see  whether  he  could  find  anything 
there  to  help  in  fastening  the  crime  on  Manning ;  that 
Sawtheaire  returned  with  a  cane,  handkerchief  and 
papers,  which  he  said  he  had  found  in  the  lawyer's 
office,  and  proposed  that  the  Mayor  should  take  them 


THE  OTHER  SIDE  OF  THE  CASE.         6l  I 

to  the  swamp  and  drop  them  at  the  locus  of  the  crime, 
which  the  Mayor,  of  course,  declined  to  do;  that 
Sawtheaire  said  he  would  attend  to  the  matter  himself, 
and  afterwards  told  the  witness  he  had  done  so,  affirm 
ing  that  Manning  would  be  hanged  for  the  crime  and 
as  effectually  disposed  of  as  if  no  mistake  had  been 
made  at  the  swamp.  After  he  had  stated  the  foregoing 
facts,  the  witness  proceeded  to  relate  what  had  occurred 
between  himself,  Sawtheaire,  Holly  and  Willis  Derby, 
and  fully  corroborated  the  testimony  of  the  detective. 
He  covered  the  whole  ground  of  the  controversy. 
When  he  concluded,  there  was  not  a  doubter  in  the 
court-room.  This  man  was  lying  on  the  brink  of  the 
grave,  and,  hardened  sinner  though  he  was,  would  cer 
tainly  not  have  criminated  innocent  men  under  the 
circumstances.  His  words  were  uttered  with  that 
earnestness  and  candor  which  carry  conviction.  He 
had  not  heard  the  testimony  of  a  single  witness  for  the 
defense,  and  yet  his  testimony  agreed  with  theirs  in 
every  particular.  Nothing  seemed  to  remain  to  be 
done.  The  people's  attorneys  did  not  cross-examine 
the  witness.  He  was  borne,  in  an  exhausted  condition, 
from  the  court-room  back  to  his  humble  home.  At 
the  eleventh  hour  he  had  made  such  reparation  as  lay 
in  his  power. 

Elizabeth  then  testified  to  the  conversation  she  had 
heard  at  the  hotel  from  her  place  of  concealment  be 
hind  the  bureau.  There  was  no  cross-examination. 

Mr.  Hartman  stated  that  he  had  additional  corrob 
orating  evidence  which  he  would  introduce  now,  or  in 
the  morning,  as  might  best  suit  the  convenience  of  the 
court  and  the  dispatch  of  business.  The  Judge  sat  for 
a  few  moments  in  silence,  and  then  said : 

"Gentlemen  of  the  Jury,  I  have  been  considering 
my  duty  under  the  strange  and  sensational  develop 
ments  of  this  case.  I  have  no  doubt,  upon  careful 
reflection,  as  to  the  proper  course  to  ~be  pursued,  and 
now  propose  to  fearlessly  pursue  it.  A  foul  murder 
has  been  committed  —  the  blackest  crime  which  has 


6l2  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY  ' 

ever  come  under  my  cognizance  during  a  long  career 
on  the  bench.  It  is  not  a  case  where  a  burglar  kills 
the  master  of  the  house,  or  a  highway  robber  slays  his 
victim  for  his  money,  either  of  which  crimes  is  horrible, 
and  demands,  in  my  judgment,  life  for  life.  This  is  a 
conspiracy  to  kill  a  human  being,  an  honorable  and 
upright  youth,  as  far  as  this  record  discloses,  because 
of  his  manly  boldness  in  the  advocacy  of  his  opinions; 
because  he  has  dared  to  make  war  upon  the  saloon 
business,  and  has  sought  to  prosecute  those  who  have 
striven  to  win  their  causes  through  corruption  and  per 
jury.  I  am  surprised  that  such  ideas  can  be  enter 
tained  and  such  crimes  conceived  and  executed  in  this 
free  land  of  ours,  where  it  is  supposed  that  every  man 
has  the  right  to  express  his  honest  opinion,  so  that  he 
does  not  thereby  violate  the  law  of  the  land.  This 
crime  is  not  founded  upon  a  desire  for  plunder  or  gain, 
but  pure  malice.  It  is  a  cold-blooded  murder.  The 
conspirators  have  failed  in  their  purpose ;  they  have 
killed  the  wrong  man,  but  they  are  guilty  of  murder — 
all  of  them — to  the  same  extent,  legally  and  morally, 
as  if  the  blow  had  fallen  upon  William  Manning 
instead  of  Henry  Anderson. 

"  I  have  always  been  an  advocate  of  license,  deem 
ing  that  the  best  way  to  control  the  business.  I 
had  not  dreamed  it  possible  that  saloon-keepers  could 
become  murderers  to  uphold  their  business.  I  must 
confess  that  I  have  seen  some  of  the.m  commit  perjury 
to  escape  liability  under  the  law,  but  I  had  not  thought 
they  would  conspire  together,  and  with  their  friends,  to 
murder  those  who  might  oppose  their  business.  On 
this  point  I  have  changed  my  opinion. 

"  But  let  me  deal  justly  with  all.  There  are  some 
saloon-keepers  who  would  not,  in  my  judgment,  commit 
perjury  to  escape  liability  for  their  unlawful  acts. 
There  are  some  who  would,  and  do.  There  are  some 
so  base  that  they  would  commit  murder  to  uphold 
their  business.  But  the  number  of  such  is  small — very 
small,  I  believe.  It  is  not  right  to  impute  to  a  whole 


THE   OTHER    SIDE    OF   THE    CASE. 

class  the  crimes  of  a  few.  At  the  same  time,  whea  we 
learn  of  a  crime  such  as  the  one  we  have  been  investi 
gating,  our  feelings  are  naturally  stirred  up  against  a 
business  which  bears,  in  any  contingency,  such  perni 
cious  fruit.  Even  those  of  us  who  have  always  favored 
the  licensing  of  the  business  are  almost  converted  to 
the  doctrine  of  prohibition.  x 

"It  appears  beyond  all  controversy,  gentlemen, 
that  the  defendant  in  this  case  is  not  guilty.  It 
appears  that  three  men — Sawtheaire,  Holly,  and  Bech- 
dold — are  guilty  of  the  crime.  It  appears  that  two 
others  are  jointly  guilty  with  them.  Of  these  two,  one 
is  beyond  the  process  of  this  court,  and  the  other  soon 
will  be.  The  Sheriff  will  arrest  Sawtheaire,  Holly  and 
Bechdold  for  the  murder  pf  Henry  Anderson,  and  the 
Clerk  will  issue  a  venire  fora  special  grand  jury,  return 
able  at  half-past  eight  in  the  morning,  and  subpoenas 
for  all  the  witnesses  who  have  testified  on  the  part  of 
the  defense,,  to  appear  at  that  hour  as  witnesses  before 
the  grand  jury. 

"As  to  the  defendant,  William  Manning,  gentle 
men,  it  is  unnecessary  to  hear  further  evidence.  You 
are  instructed  to  return  a  verdict  of  not  guilty,  and  the 
Clerk  will  put  your  verdict  into  form,  and  enter  it  of 
record.  Is  that  your  verdict,  gentlemen?" 

The  jurors  arose,  and  answered  as  one  man,  "  It  is. " 

"The  defendant  is  discharged,"  said  the  Judge, 
"with  congratulations  to  himself  and  his  counsel  on 
the  favorable  issue  of  this  trial." 

There  followed  a  murmur  of  voices,  which  increased 
in  volume  till  it  culminated  in  a  mighty  cheer,  which 
issued  from  hundreds  of  throats,  and  announced  the 
approbation  of  the  spectators.  It  was  folly  for  the 
court  to  storm  and  threaten,  and  good  old  Judge 
Snapper,  whos€  virtues  greatly  preponderated  over  his 
vices,  was  wise  enough  to  know  that  no  contempt  was 
intended,  and  that  this  prolonged  cheer  was  but  the 
spontaneous  outburst  of  the  long  pent-up  feelings  of 
the  crowd,  which  could  no  more  have  been  repressed 


614  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

than  the  tears  of  joy  which  were  rolling  down  the 
cheeks  of  William  Manning,  and  his  sister  Bessie,  and 
his  darling  Katie. 

When  the  applause  had  subsided,  the  Judge  ordered 
the  Sheriff  to  adjourn  court,  and  then  repaired  to  the 
nearest  saloon  to  get  a  drink,  for  he  was  never  so  dry 
in  all  his  life,  he  swore,  and  there  seemed  to  be  a  kind 
of  knot  in  his  throat,  threatening  his  suffocation.  Such 
a  bundle  of  inconsistencies  was  Judge  Snapper!  And 
such  are  we,  dear  reader !  Up  to-day,  and  down  to 
morrow  !  Loyal  to  the  truth  at  one  moment,  and  wink 
ing  at  error  the  moment  after !  Building  for  days  what 
we  tear  down  at  last  in  a  single  moment  of  weakness. 

After  the  adjournment  of  court,  the  wildest  con 
fusion  prevailed.  Dr.  Lowell  and  Bessie  wept  over 
William  Manning ;  and  even  Paul  Hartman  and  Eliza 
beth  Oakford  could  hardly  repress  the  tears  which  were 
struggling  into  their  eyes,  and  not  being  able  to  think 
of  any  better  way  of  showing  their  joy,  fell  to  shaking 
each  other's  hand  with  rapture  and  enthusiasm.  James 
Anderson  pulled  Bessie  away,  that  he  might  congratu 
late  his  friend  Manning;  and  while  he  shook  Manning's 
hand,  forgot,  in  the  confusion  of  the  moment,  to  release 
Bessie's,  but  also  shook  and  squeezed  her  hand  un 
mercifully.  And  then  that  timid  little  creature,  Katie, 
who  stood  there  all  the  time  trembling  like  a  frightened 
bird,  and  almost  choking,  stepped  forward  and  put  her 
hand  into  William  Manning's,  and  began  to  say,  and 
did  say:  "Allow  me  to — to — con — "  and  then,  poor 
child,  broke  down  completely,  and  fell  into  her  lover's 
arms,  sobbing  as  if  her  heart  would  break,  and  that, 
too,  there  before  everybody,  while  her  lover  held  her 
in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  again  and  again.  But 
nobody  smiled.  Even  the  roughest  of  that  crowd 
turned  their  faces  away.  For  there  were  tears  in  their 
eyes  too — such  sympathy  is  there  between  the  most 
distant  hearts  on  extraordinary  occasions.  And  there 
were  tears  in  Mrs.  Anderson's  eyes,  as  she  took  her 
daughter's  hand  and  put  it  into  the  hand  of  her  lover. 


fHF   OTHER    SIDE    OF   tHE    CASE.  6 1 5 

At  last  the  group  passed  out  of  the  court-room  into 
the  open  air,  just  in  time  to  receive  a  joyful  caress  from 
the  sun  setting  in  cloudless  splendor. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 
A  DYING  SINNER'S  SERMON. 

During  the  confusion  incident  to  the  appearance  of 
Joe  Jimson  in  court,  Bechdold,  who  had  been  an  uneasy 
spectator  up  to  that  time,  became  suddenly  animated 
with  a  yearning  desire  after  some  climate  more  favor 
able  for  respiration  than  this  was  likely  to  be,  and  took 
his  departure  from  the  court-room  with  commendable 
celerity.  It  occurred  to  him  that  something  of  a  fright 
ful  nature  was  about  to  ensue,  and  that  while  he  had 
no  fear  of  Judge  Snapper  when  he  was  drinking  at  the 
bar,  he  did  have  a  most  wholesome  fear  of  that  gentle 
man  when  vested  with  the  judicial  ermine,  with  the 
power  of  the  State  at  his  command  to  enforce  his  judg 
ments.  Consequently,  when  Sheriff  Hazelbrush,  in 
obedience  to  the  mandate  of  the  Court,  went  to  Bech- 
dold's  place  of  business  to  arrest  him,  the  latter  was 
not  to  be  found.  Vigorous  search  was  made  for  the 
missing  citizen  throughout  the  entire  county.  All  in 
vain,  however.  Bechdold  was  never  seen  at  Welling 
ton  again.  Whatever  was  to  be  the  fate  of  his  co-con 
spirators,  this  craven  and  miserly  coward  had  escaped 
the  bar  of  earthly  justice. 

When  court  adjourned,  and  Huntington  left  trie 
room  a  free  man,  the  guard  of  deputies  whose  services 
had  been  required  to  insure  him  against  summary  execu 
tion  was  sent  by  the  Sheriff  to  protect  Sawtheaire  and 
Holly  from  the  wrath  of  the  fickle  multitude.  Ka'ch  of 
these  gentlemen,  who  had  but  recently  been  engaged 
in  the  prosecution  of  the  object  of  their  joint  hatred, 
now  found  sufficient  employment  for  his  fertile  mind 
in  planning  for  his  own  escape  from  the  meshes  of  the 
law  in  which  he  seemed  at  last  to  be  so  hopelessly  en 
tangled.  Each  decided  on  an  immediate  attempt  at 
escape  and  flight. 

616 


A  DYING  SINNER'S  SERMON. 

That  very  night  Sawtheaire  succeeded  in  making  his 
escape.  When  the  Sheriff  learned  the  fact,  he  sent 
officers  out  in  every  direction  in  search  of  the  fleeing 
criminal.  He  charged  the  keeper  of  the  jail  with  hav 
ing  been  bribed.  So  while  the  country  about  Welling 
ton  was  being  scoured  in  every  direction  for  Sawtheaire, 
the  Sheriff  obtained  a  warrant  for  the  arrest  of  the 
keeper  for  an  escape,  and  caused  him  to  be  lodged  in 
jail.  Upon  the  keeper's  person  the  sum  of  two  hun 
dred  dollars  was  found,  the  possession  of  which  he  was 
never  able  satisfactorily  to  account  for.  He  was  after 
wards  indicted  for  an  escape,  and  upon  trial  was  con 
victed  and  sentenced  to  the  penitentiary  for  five  years 
for  that  crime,  notwithstanding  the  claim  on  his  part 
that  he  did  not  voluntarily  suffer  the  prisoner  to  escape. 

All  night  long  the  search  for  Sawtheaire  was  prose 
cuted.  It  was  rumored  that  he  had  fled  to  the  river ; 
and  on  the  next  morning  a  large  crowd,  following  up 
this  rumor,  industriously  searched  the  woods  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  river,  and  pushed  their  inquiries  at  every 
village  and  at  every  house.  But  Sawtheaire  was  never 
found  alive.  Some  weeks  afterwards  his  dead  body 
was  discovered  in  the  river  some  distance  below  Callitso 
County.  As  far  as  could  be  learned,  he  came  to  his 
death  while  endeavoring  to  cross  the  river  in  the  night 
time  in  an  old,  unreliable  boat  which  he  had  found  in 
the  woods  on  the  river-bank.  Thus  this  wicked  man 
went  to  receive  his  reward. 

Holly,  having  failed  to  escape,  was  tried  at  the  term 
of  court  at  which  Huntington  had  been  arraigned.  He 
was  too  discreet  to  plead  guilty.  Judge  Snapper  would 
certainly  have  sentenced  him  to  be  hanged.  Under 
such  circumstances  he  preferred  to  submit  his  cause  to 
a  jury.  Billy  Johnson  was  appointed  prosecutor,  and 
Messrs.  Squabble,  Wriggle  and  Dabble  appeared  for  the 
defense.  It  so  happened,  through  carelessness  in  the 
examination  of  the  jury  on  the  part  of  the  prosecutor, 
that  one  man  was  sworn  who  was  irreconcilably  op 
posed  to  capital  punishment.  As  a  consequence,  the 


6l8  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

jury  were  in  deliberation  for  two  days,  unable  to  agree 
on  the  punishment,  eleven  voting  for  death  and  one  for 
imprisonment  for  life.  At  last  the  eleven  yielded,  and 
a  verdict  for  life-imprisonment  was  returned.  The 
Judge  reprimanded  the  jury  sharply.  The  defendant 
ought  to  have  been  hanged,  he  said  positively.  How 
ever,  his  hands  were  tied,  as  he  affirmed—  he  could  not 
interfere.  The  defendant  was  therefore  sentenced  and 
hurried  off  to  the  penitentiary  the  same  day,  as  delay 
in  his  case  might  have  proved  fatal. 

In  the  meantime,  what  had  become  of  Joe  Jimson? 
When  taken  home  from  the  trial,  he  was  utterly  ex 
hausted.  Every  available  restorative  was  used,  except 
those  containing  alcohol.  In  his  rational  moments  he 
had  interdicted  the  use  of  the  latter,  and  such  respect 
for  his  wishes  in  this  particular  was  shown,  that  no  one 
offered  to  give  him  anything  of  the  kind.  Elizabeth 
Oakford,  James  Anderson  and  Marion  Spence  were 
with  the  dying  man  throughout  the  night.  It  was  a 
sad  and  dismal  watch.  At  one  time  he  came  out  of 
his  stupor,  and  raising  himself  up  in  bed,  screamed 
with  all  his  might.  "There!"  he  cried,  pointing  at  the 
wall.  "Look!  Don't  you  see  him?  O  my  Lord, 
what  will  I  do?  Where  will  I  go?  Where!  where!" 
he  continued,  his  voice  sinking  to  a  dreadful  whisper. 
Then  he  screamed  again.  "There  he  is !  I  killed  him 
thirty  year  ago  !  thirty  year  !  Drive  him  away  !  Mur 
der  !  Murder !  He  has  come  to  kill  me  !"  As  he  uttered 
the  last  words,  the  poor  wretch  fell  back  upon  his  pil 
low,  exhausted,  and  sank  again  into  unconsciousness. 
Even  in  his  stupor  he  must  have  suffered  untold  agony, 
for  his  brow  at  times  became  clouded  with  a  terrible 
frown,  his  lips  worked  as  if  in  a  vain  effort  to  speak, 
and  his  breathing  grew  loud  and  labored.  Then  the- 
agony  seemed  to  pass  away  for  a  while,  and  he  rested 
as  quietly  as  a  child. 

"  What  a  temperance  sermon  this  is!"  said  Eliza 
beth  to  Marion  Spence.  ' '  Poor,  pitiable  wreck  !  But  for 
strong  drink  he  might  have  been  honored,  prosperous 


A  DYING  SINNER'S  SERMON.  619 

and  happy.  He  has  told  me  that  he  killed  two  men  in 
Kentucky,  and  armed  himself  with  liquor  beforehand, 
that  he  might  have  courage  to  do  the  work.  And 
now  the  memory  of  his  sins,  for  which  rum  is  largely 
responsible,  embitters  his  dying  hours !  I  wish  every 
young  man  in  this  land  could  be  here  to  see  this  dread 
ful  "sight.  I  think  we  would  have  but  little  need  for 
temperance  lectures  after  that." 

Marion  Spence  was  about  to  speak  when  the  dying 
man  calmly  opened  his  eyes.  He  looked  up  at  Elizabeth, 
and  then  at  his  weeping  wife.  He  made  an  effort  to 
speak,  but  his  tongue  was  dry  and  parched,  and 
he  did  not  succeed  till  Elizabeth  had  moistened  his 
lips  and  mouth  'with  a  cloth  dipped  in  pure, 
cold  water.  Ah !  how  grateful  he  seemed.  He 
motioned  the  two  women  to  his  bedside,  and  tried 
to  put  his  arm  around  his  sorrowing  wife.  How  often 
that  arm  had  been  uplifted  over  her  in  anger !  How 
often  that  hand,  which  now  caressed  her  silvery  hair, 
had  smitten  her  upon  the  cheek !  But  none  of  these 
things  were  present  in  her  thoughts  now.  She  still 
loved  the  poor  old  wreck  of  a  being,  whom,  once  up 
on  a  time,  when  her  hair  was  like  the  golden  sunshine, 
she  had  vowed  to  take  for  her  husband  for  better,  for 
worse,  for  richer,  for  poorer.  She  kissed  him,  and  his 
face  brightened  almost  as  with  a  smile. 

"  I  have  been  so  wicked,"  he  said.  "  I  can  't  undo 
the  wrong  I  've  done.  Pray  for  me  once  more — it  may 
be  for  the  last  time." 

Elizabeth  prayed  for  him  earnestly  and  tenderly ; 
and  when  the  prayer  was  ended,  he  seemed  to  fall 
asleep,  and  for  a  few  minutes  his  face  remained  calm 
and  unclouded. 

Elizabeth  led  Mrs.  Jimson  away  to  an  old  rocking- 
chair,  and  forced  her  to  be  seated,  and  folded  up  a 
light  shawl  she  had  worn  in  coming  to  the  house  that 
evening,  and  put  it  on  the  back  of  the  chair  for  the 
tired,  aching  head  to  rest  upon.  "There  now, "  said 
the  ministering  Elizabeth,  "you  must  have  rest.  You 


. 


62O  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

can  't  keep  up  without  it.  Try  to  sleep ;  and  if  any 
change  takes  place  I'll  call  you."  As  she  said  these 
words  a  light  knock  at  the  door  was  heard,  and  Mr. 
Hartman  arid  Dr.  Lowell  were  admitted  into  the  room. 
There  were  but  three  old  chairs,  and  two  of  these  were 
offered  the  visitors.  But  no  one  seemed  to  feel  like 
sitting  down.  Some  of  those  present  went  into  the 
kitchen,  and  some  remained  in  the  room  with  the 
dying  man. 

James  stood  near  the  bed,  looking  intently  into  the 
face  of  the  sufferer.  At  first  his  heart  was  moved  with 
deepest  pity.  "  Poor  man, '' he  thought.  "  When  he  was 
young,  he  was  no  worse  than  his  companions,  perhaps. 
He  may  have  gone  to  school,  and  enjoyed  some  privi 
leges  which  others  who  have  made  good  men  did  not  en 
joy.  Doubtless  there  was  for  him  the  possibility  of  a 
useful  and  honorable  career.  How  he  has  wasted  his  life, 
and  neglected  his  opportunities  !  How  he  has  given  the 
reins  to  his  passions,  and  allowed  sin  to  have  dominion 
over  him !  Sad,  indeed,  is  such  a  fate !  And  yet  how 
little  he  deserves  of  compassion!  Thrice  a  murderer! 
But  for  this  man  and  others  like  him,  my  father  might 
be  living.  Ah,  my  God !  how  can  he  ever  obtain  for 
giveness  for  that  terrible  deed  ?  "  With  the  last  thought, 
the  young  man's  eye  grew  stern,  and  his  face  became 
hardened.  At  that  moment  the  sleeper  looked  up, 
slowly  enough,  calmly  enough.  His  eyes  became  fixed 
on  James  Anderson's  face.  An  expression  of  dread  and 
horror  overspread  his  features.  He  gasped  for  breath. 
He  raised  himself  on  his  elbow,  with  his  eyes  still  fixed 
on  the  young  man's  face,  and  with  unnatural  strength 
would  have  sprung  from  the  bed,  had  not  Mr.  Hart 
man  and  Dr.  Lowell  seized  him  and  held  him  in  his 
place.  Then  he  shuddered  and  fell  back  upon  his 
pillow,  muttering:  "Avenger!  avenger!  avenger!" 
Not  till  James  had  left  the  room  did  he.  grow  calm 
again,  and  sink  once  more  into  a  stupor. 

And  so  the  minutes  passed  away.  No  clock  intoned 
the  hour,  but  the  lawyer's  and  the  doctor's  watches 


A  DYING  SINNER'S  SERMON.  621 

told  them  it  was  twelve  o'clock.  There  was  nothing 
for  them  to  do  but  to  look  on.  Their  services  might  be 
valuable,  when  the  spirit  should  leave  this  wreck  of  clay, 
in  preparing  the  body  for  burial.  But  they  could  only 
stand  there  now  against  the  wall,  and  listen  to  the  short, 
quick  breathing  of  the  dying  sinner,  to  the  dry  sobs  of 
the  wife,  and  to  the  persistent  and  regular  ticking  of 
their  watches.  Jimson  was  beyond  the  reach  of  medi 
cine  ;  so  the  eminent  Dr.  Lowell,  a  bright  light  in  his 
profession,  was  as  helpless  as  a  child.  Jimson  had  no 
home,  not  even  a  square  foot  of  soil,  to  devise  to  his 
wife ;  he  had  no  personal  effects  except  what  would  be 
hers  any  way  ;  and  so  there  was  nothing  for  the  distin 
guished  lawyer  to  do. 

But  ah !  there  was  one  thing  they  could  do,  after 
all.  They  could  watch  Elizabeth.  There  was  much 
for  her  to  do,  which  could  not  be  done  by  others. 
She  could  make  the  cup  of  tea  for  the  suffering  wife, 
and  give  her  the  kiss  of  sympathy.  She  could  smooth 
the  pillow  of  the  dying  man,  and  adjust  his  head  upon 
it,  and  bathe  his  forehead,  and  moisten  his  parched 
lips.  Not  that  the  doctor,  or  the  lawyer,  or  the  mer 
chant,  or  the  student  of  medicine  was  unwilling  to  do 
any  or  all  of  these  things,  but  that  they  could  not — 
Jimson  would  have  known.  Ah !  yes,  he  would  have 
stirred  uneasily  on  his  bed,  if  other  than  the  compas 
sionate  touch  of  a  woman's  fingers  had  adjusted  his 
pillow.  His  wife,  poor  woman!  was  too  distressed  to 
wait  upon  him.  And  so  the  task  was  Elizabeth's. 
There  was  a  softness,  a  delicacy,  a  sympathy  about  her 
every  touch  and  act  that  soothed  the  troubled  spirit  of 
poor  Joe  Jimson,  and  lightened  the  burden  of  his  suffer 
ing,  even  when  his  eyes  were  closed,  and  he  seemed 
unconscious  of  his  surroundings. 

At  last  the  watches  of  the  doctor  and  the  attorney 
indicated  the  hour  of  two  o'clock.  A  solemn  hush 
had  fallen  upon  the  room  and  all  who  were  there. 
Mrs.  Jimson  was  kneeling  at  the  bedside  of  her  hus 
band,  and  Elizabeth  was  standing  there  smoothing  his 


622  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

forehead  with  light,  gentle  touch.  Dr.  Lowell  and 
Mr.  Hartman  and  Marion  Spence  were  standing  near 
by,  while  James  was  in  the  other  room.  A  change 
was  on  the  face  of  the  sufferer.  The  feebly  fluttering 
heart  was  soon  to  be  stilled  forever.  The  dying  man 
opened  his  eyes  again.  There  was  no  wildness  in  them, 
but  calmness  now,  and  hope.  He  put  his  poor,  wasted 
arm  around  his  wife's  neck,  and  begged  her  forgiveness. 
She  staggered  to  her  feet  and  threw  herself  upon  him, 
and  kissed  him  in  an  agony  of  grief.  He  spoke  to  her 
calmly  and  tenderly.  The  ending  of  their  journey  in 
life  together  was  very  like  the  beginning,  except  the 
tears. 

' '  I  want  my  funeral  preached  in  the  largest  room 
in  town,"  he  said,  with  an  effort.  "  I  want  everybody 
to  hear  it.  I  want  these  words  used  fur  the  text. 
Wait  a  moment — wait — a  moment — till  they  come  back 
to  me.  My  mother  taught  'em  to  me — when  I  was  a 
boy.  Yes,  now  I  remember  'em.  '  Look  not  thou 
upon  the  wine — when  it  is  red — when  it  giveth  its 
color  in  the  cup — when  it  moveth  itself  aright.  At 
the  last  it  biteth  like  a  serpent  and  stingeth  like  an 
adder.''  He  closed  his  eyes,  murmuring  as  he  did 
so : .  "  How  true !  how  true !  God's  words.  Yes,  they 
are  God's  words,  for  they're  so  true!"  Then  he 
opened  his  eyes,  and  said  earnestly :  ' '  /  know  how  true 
they  are.  Promise  me  that  this  shall  be  done.  Tell 
the  preacher  to  hold  me  up — as  an  example.  Let  him 
warn  young  and  old.  It  '11  be  my  sermon — my  sermon 
— and  may  be  it'll  save  some." 

Joe  Jimson's  time  had  almost  come.  He  tried  to 
speak,  but  could  not.  Then  he  tried  again.  Elizabeth 
caught  his  words,  and  understood  his  last  request, 
though,  at  first,  no  one  else  did.  At  last  he  found 
voice,  and  gasped:  "  Rock  of  Ages — mother's  song !  " 

Marion  Spence  turned  toward  the  wall,  and  silently 
wept.  Perhaps  he  was  thinking  of  the  souls  he  had 
helped  to  damn.  James,  who  had  heard  all  in  the 
other  room,  was  weeping,  too.  Perhaps  he  was  think- 


A  DYING  SINNER'S  SERMON.  623 

ing  of  his  murdered  father.  Dr.  Lowell,  used  to  death 
bed  scenes,  was,  nevertheless,  visibly  affected ;  while 
Paul  Hartman  stood  there  with  the  tears  rolling  down  his 
face.  Neither  of  them  could  have  found  a  voicefor  song. 
But  Elizabeth,  gentle  and  tender  as  a  ministering 
angel,  whose  mission  it  was  never  to  falter  in  the  hour 
of  need,  or  shrink  from  the  post  of  duty,  for  a  moment 
compressed  her  lips,  as  if  choking  back  the  sobs,  and 
then,  in  a  clear,  sweet,  earnest  voice,  lifted  up  the 
words  of  the  grand  old  hymn  from  the  sick-bed  to  the 
throne  of  grace ;  and  as  the  last  words  died  away  from 
her  lips,  the  woman  kneeling  and  sobbing  by  the  bed 
side  was  a  widow.  Elizabeth's  work  with  the  dying 
man  was  done.  Her  mission  now  was  with  the  living. 
Gently  she  helped  the  grief-stricken  woman  to  her  feet, 
and  led  her  into  the  other  room. 

The  wishes  of  Joe  Jimson  were  riot  disregarded. 
The  funeral  services  were  conducted  in  the  largest 
church  in  Wellington.  The  building  was  crowded, 
and  scores  of  men  stood  without  the  doors.  It  was  the 
greatest  temperance  sermon  ever  preached  in  Welling 
ton.  Joe  Jimson's  dying  words  were  repeated  with 
solemn  earnestness,  and  sank  deep  into  the  hearts  of  the 
hearers.  And  when,  at  the  election  in  the  following 
Spring,  the  business  was  driven  out  of  Wellington, 
never  to  find  legal  sanction  there  again,  it  was  known 
that  the  dying  words  of  a  repentant  sinner  had  been 
the  chief  instrumentality  in  the  redemption  of  the  city 
from  its  curse. 


,  CHAPTER    XL. 

ASSORTED    ACCORDING   TO    AFFINITY. 

It  was  on  a  certain  Friday  evening  in  October  when 
the  trial  of  the  case  of  the  People  against  William 
Manning  was  terminated  by  the  charge  of  the  court  to 
the  jury  to  render  a  verdict  of  acquittal.  That  night 
Joe  Jimson  died,  and  Elizabeth  and  others  kept  watch 
at  his  bedside.  Saturday  came,  and  with  the  day  came 
an  imperative  summons  for  Paul  Hartman  to  return 
to  Buffalo.  So  it  was  determined  that  he  and  Dr. 
Lowell  should  leave  that  evening  for  their  respective 
homes,  while  William  Huntington  and  his  sister  Bessie 
should  remain  a  few  days  longer  and  visit  with  their 
friends — that  is  to  say,  visit  especially  with  James  and 
Katie  Anderson. 

On  Saturday  the  two  gentlemen  called  on  the  young 
folks,  who  were  all  at  Mrs.  Anderson's,  and  conversed 
pleasantly  with  them  and  Mrs.  Anderson  for  an  hour 
concerning  the  great  trial  and  its  incidents.  The  part 
ing  between  Mr.  Hartman'  and  Bessie  was  of  a  private 
nature,  and  presumably  duly  affectionate.  After  he 
had  gone  and  she  had  rejoined  James,  Katie  and  her 
brother,  she  soon  forgot  her  absent  lover  in  the  spark 
ling  conversation  which  ensued.  Mrs.  Anderson's 
home  was  not  a  gloomy  place,  except  for  herself  alone  ; 
she  was  too  sensible  a  woman  to  intrude  the  grief 
which  she  daily  felt  upon  this  happy  group  of  young 
people.  She  was  glad  they  could  be  happy.  Their 
merry  laughter  was  not  discordant  to  her  soul ;  it  ex 
cited  within  her  many  a  precious  recollection  of  the 
past,  when  she,  too,  was  young,  and  the  world  lay 
bright  and  beautiful  before  her.  And  so  the  afternoon 
passed  swiftly  away,  and  was  ever  afterwards  remem 
bered  with  exquisite  pleasure. 

But  Paul  Hartman  had  yet  another  call  to  make  be- 
$24 


ASSORTED    ACCORDING    TO    AFFINITY.  625 

fore  he  could  feel  justified  in  leaving  this  city,  perhaps 
forever,  and  he  invited  Dr.  Lowell  to  go  with  him. 
The  Doctor,  however,  had  promised  to  call  on  Dr. 
Harmon,  whereby,  he  said,  he  would  find  more 
real  enjoyment  and  profit  than  in  calling  on  any  woman 
in  the  world,  with  the  sole  exception  of  Mrs.  Low 
ell.  Pursuant  to  their  respective  tastes,  Dr.  Lowell 
spent  the  following  hour  with  Dr.  Harmon,  and  Paul 
Hartman  passed  the  same  hour  with  Elizabeth  Oak- 
ford  in  the  little  parlor  of  her  boarding-house.  The 
lawyer  learned  all  he  could  of  her  history,  and  in  re 
turn  imparted  to  Elizabeth  an '  outline  of  his  own 
career.  So  deeply  interested  were  these  two  in  their 
conversation,  which  was  purely  an  intellectual  feast, 
that  they  took  no  notice  of  the  lapse  of  time,  till  the 
striking  of  the  landlady's  clock  and  the  unceremonious 
appearance  of  that  lady  herself,  with  the  pointed  ad 
monition  that  if  he  wanted  to  leave  on  the  next  train  it 
was  certainly  time  to  be  going,  admonished  Mr.  Hart 
man  to  take  his  departure.  As  he  bade  Elizabeth 
farewell,  he  held  her  hand  a  little  longer  than  cere 
mony  absolutely  demanded.  He  looked  into  her 
face  with  an  expression  which  indicated  that  his 
mind  was  at  the  moment  unembarrassed  by  knotty 
legal  questions.  Inasmuch  as  Bessie  was  not  there  to 
see  or  hear,  and  both  parties  were  undeniably  of  age 
and  able  to  take  care  of  themselves,  no  harm  was  done. 
So  forgetful  was  Mr.  Hartman  of  his  surroundings  that 
he  continued  to  hold  the  gentle  Elizabeth's  hand  as  he 
uttered  his  parting  words,  till  she,  realizing  that  her 
landlady  was  still  standing  in  the  door,  looking  on  with 
staring  eyes,  softly  withdrew  her  hand,  blushing  ever 
so  little  as  she  did  so.  Let  the  reader  understand  that 
this  admirable  woman  was  only  thirty-three  years  of 
age,  and  that  her  face  had  not  lost  its  freshness,  nor 
her  eyes  the  sparkle  of  youth,  nor  her  heart  the  power 
of  a  loyal,  undying  attachment. 

Paul  Hartman  had  to  run  in  order  to  make  his  train. 
This    was  altogether  undignified,   as  the  landlady  re- 


-    626  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

marked.  Elizabeth  had  been  a  constant,  well-behaved 
and  uncomplaining  boarder,  who  had  paid  her  board 
promptly  at  the  end  of  each  month,  and  whose  pres 
ence  had  conferred  upon  the  house  a  flavor  of  intel 
lectuality,  and  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  the 
thrifty  landlady  should  have  felt  some  displeasure  at 
the  scene  she  had  witnessed,  and  have  vented  that  dis 
pleasure  in  an  effort  to  caricature  the  eminent  lawyer 
who  was  now  trotting  down  the  street  with  his  coat- 
tails  flying  upon  the  breeze.  Elizabeth  herself  laughed 
heartily,  and  admitted  that  it  was  a  ludicrous  sight ; 
whereat  the  landlady-felt  better,  and  proceeded  to  flour 
ish  her  broom  threateningly  at  a  few  unoffending  cob 
webs. 

Elizabeth  went  to  her  room  and  undertook  to  finish 
an  article  she  had  been  writing  on  the  "Malign  Influ 
ence  of  the  Saloon  Power  at  the  Polls."  But  her  mind 
seemed  to  be  uncontrollable ;  her  ideas  were  in  confu 
sion  ;  her  muse  had  departed.  The  color  on  her  cheeks 
was  deeper  than  would  have  been  expected.  She  laid 
aside  her  pen,  and  sat  by  her  table  in  reverie — a  very 
rare  luxury  for  her,  it  must  be  owned.  Suddenly,  with 
an  effort,  she  recalled  her  thoughts  from  a  certain  train 
of  cars  which  was  supposed  to  be  flying  along  towards 
Chicago  at  the  rate  of  thirty-five  or  forty  miles  an  hour, 
and  arose  from  her  desk,  put  on  her  hat,  and  went  to 
call  for  a  few  moments  at  Mrs.  Anderson's,  with  the 
intention  of  going  thence  to  Mr.  Jimson's  to  assist  in 
perfecting  arrangements  for  the  funeral  which  was  to 
take  place  on  the  following  day. 

Elizabeth  had  learned  that  Paul  Hartman  and  Bessie 
Lowell  were  to  be  married  within  a  year,  and  she 
would  have  done  everything  in  her  power  to  promote 
their  happiness,  and  nothing  to  hinder  their  union.  She 
thought  Mr.  Hartman  the  most  perfect  gentleman  she 
had  ever  met.  She  strove  to  repress  every  thought 
that  might  be  deemed  treasonable  to  Bessie's  claim  ;  but, 
after  all,  she  had  to  acknowledge  that  the  Buffalo  lawyer 
had  made  a  most  mysterious  impression  upon  her. 


"ASSORTED  ACCORDING  TO  AFFINITY.  627 

Before  Mr.  Hartman  left  Wellington,  he  tendered  to 
William  Huntington  a  partnership  in  his  practice  at 
Buffalo;  not  on  equal  terms,  to  be  sure,  but  with  the 
promise  of  equality  in  the  business  and  profits  in  due 
season.  This  was  an  unexpected  and  generous  offer. 
Mr.  Huntington's  share  in  the  business  would  enable 
him  to  become  the  head  of  a  family  at  an  early  day ; 
and  while  his  location  at  Buffalo  would  mean  a  present 
separation  from  Katie,  yet  that  separation  would  last 
but  for  a  few  months,  and  then  nothing  but  death 
could  ever  separate  them  again.  The  thought  of  re 
locating  at  Wellington  was  not  pleasant.  Never 
theless,  his  friends  sought  with  many  arguments  to 
induce  him  to  remain.  Squire  Ingleside  asserted  that 
he  could  have  the  State's  attorney's  office  without 
doubt,  and  retain  it  at  his  pleasure.  Colonel  Mansfield 
and  Marion  Spence  said  that  he  could  have  one  side  of 
every  case  in  the  county,  and  that  he  was  making  the 
great  mistake  of  his  life  if  he  did  not  heed  the  en 
treaties  of  his  friends.  James,  Katie  and  Mrs.  Ander 
son  joined  in  the  general  petition.  In  his  perplexity 
the  young  man  laid  the  question  before  Elizabeth. 
She  told  him  frankly  that  while  she  would  prefer,  from 
personal  considerations,  to  have  him  locate  at  Welling 
ton,  yet  she  thought  it  for  his  ultimate  gain  to  accept 
Mr.  Hartman's  offer.  Wellington,  she  said,  would 
always  be  a  small  place,  where  there  would  be  but  little 
opportunity  for  a  gifted  man  to  rise  in  his  profession. 
In  Buffalo,  with  such  a  partner  as  Paul  Hartman,  he 
would  not  be  confined  to  the  drudgery  of  the  profes 
sion,  but  could  choose  his  work,  and  hold  himself  aloof 
from  whatever  would  degrade  his  soul  or  offend  his 
sensibilities.  "Elizabeth  is  right, "  he  thought.  "She 
always  looks  ahead  and  advises  for  one's  ultimate  good. 
I  would  prefer  to  stay  here  now  with  Katie;  but 
eventual  blessing  will  follow  the  temporary  separation. " 
"And  then,"  said  Elizabeth,  timidly,  "the  privilege 
of  being  associated  with  Mr.  Hartman  is  inestimable." 
The  dear  woman  blushed ;  but  William  Huntington 


628  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

took  no  notice  of  her  heightened  color  or  timidity  of 
speech,  and  merely  remarked  that  such  war,  undoubt 
edly  his  sister's  opinion.  Consequently,  Mr.  Hart- 
man's  offer  was  accepted,  and  William  Huntington  was 
to  leave  for  Buffalo  on  the  following  Thursday. 

Wednesday  was  a  bright,  beautiful  day.  The 
mornings  and  evenings  were  now  decidedly  frosty ;  but 
as  the  sun  attained  its  midday  power  the  air  became 
balmy,  and  even  the  shaded  dells  of  the  woods  warm 
enough  for  a  picnic.  Katie  was  not  yet  so  old  as  to 
lose  sight  of  the  romantic  in  her  loving,  and  thought  it 
would  be  very  nice  indeed  for  herself  and  Mr.  Hunt 
ington  to  visit  Mossy  Bank,  and  spend  part  of  the  day 
there  in  memory  of  "auld  lang  syne."  She  was 
afraid  to  broach  the  subject  to  James  and  Bessie,  lest 
they  should  perversely  insist  on  going.  So  she  de 
ferred  the  communication  till  she  and  her  lover  were 
ready  for  immediate  departure.  Bessie  had  been  play 
ing  on  the  piano  and  singing  something  about  a  "weep 
ing,  wand'ring  refugee,"  while  James  had  been  turning 
the  music  for  her  and  assisting  in  the  chorus.  This 
dismal  song  had  not  had  a  depressing  effect  on  the 
singer  or  her  attendant.  Judging  from  their  appear 
ance,  you  would  have  thought  that  the  wandering 
refugee  was  indeed  the  happiest  of  mortals,  and  that  his 
sad  and  forlorn  state  was  one  really  to  be  desired.  Just 
at  the  close  of  the  last  stanza,  Katie  appeared  in  the 
door  between  the  parlor  and  sitting-room,  with  her  hat 
on,  and  her  obedient  lover  in  the  background.  What 
rosy  cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes  !  No  wonder  William 
Huntington  stood  there,  looking  rapturously  at  her, 
regardless  of  the  roguish  look  in  Bessie's  eyes  or  the 
quizzical  expression  of  young  Anderson's  counten 
ance  !  Katie  informed  the  songsters  that  she  and  Mr. 
Huntington  had  determined  to  be  selfish  for  once,  and 
had  planned  a  picnic  to  the  woods  without  inviting  any 
of  their  friends ;  but  that  rather  than  be  thought  su 
premely  selfish,  they  were  willing  to  sacrifice  themselves 
by  increasing  the  number  of  their  party  to  four. 


ASSORTED  ACCORDING  fo  AFFINITY.  629 

"Indeed!"  exclaimed  James,  "what  a  pressing 
invitation!  I  believe  I  would  prefer  to  stay  here." 

"  And  I  must  practice  my  music,  and  can  't  go  !"  said 
Bessie,  as  her  fingers  nan  lightly  along  the  key-board 
of  the  piano.  And  so  it  came  to"  pass  that  all  were 
pleased.  There  was  no  unsympathetic  third  party  at 
Mossy  Bank,  or  in  the  parlor  either,  for  that  matter. 
As  William  Huntington  and  Katie  turned  the  corner  at 
the  next  street,  too  full  of  bliss  as  they  were  to  speak 
a  word,  a  soft  breeze  bore  to  their  ears  the  dying 
strains  of  that  poor  "weeping,  wand'ring  refugee." 

The  lovers  did  indeed  enjoy  themselves  at  Mossy 
Bank  on  this  beautiful,  tranquil  day.  What  did  they 
talk  about  ?  Well,  it  is  hardly  worth  while  to  repeat 
their  fragmentary  conversation.  Much  of  it  would  seem 
exceedingly  foolish  if  committed  to  paper  and  em 
balmed  in  ink.  But  this  much  may  be  said  :  that  they 
talked  about  their  future,  and  made  plans,  and  built 
beautiful  castles,  and  were  unutterably  happy.  And 
that  was  the  proper  thing  for  them  to  do  under  the  cir 
cumstances. 

At  noon,  Katie  thought  it  would  be  well  to  try  her 
hand  at  housekeeping.  So  she  spread  the  white  cloth 
on  the  grass,  and  arranged  the  contents  of  the  lunch- 
basket  upon  the  cloth  in  the  most  skillful  manner,  while 
William  Huntington  impeded  the  progress  of  her  prep 
arations  by  his  injudicious  efforts  to  render  assistance. 
When  he  undertook  to  assist  her,  he  was  sure  to  get 
in  the  way ;  and  when  she  scolded  him  mildly  for  his 
awkwardness,  he  retaliated  with  a — well,  never  mind 
what ;  suffice  it  to  say,  that  he  retaliated  according  to 
his  own  peculiar  method. 

Yes,  they  were  happy.  The  hours  sped  rapidly 
away.  The  time  came  when  the  declining  of  the  sun 
and  the  cooling  of  the  air  warned  them  that  they  must 
return.  Sadly  they  left  the  spot.  Adieu,  Mossy  Bank! 
Adieu,  little  stream,  and  trees  and  birds!  As"  they 
stood,  arm  in  arm,  on  the  bank  of  Honey  Creek,  look 
ing  down  at  the  rippling  water,  Tennyson's  words  came 


630  A    SUBTLE    ADVERSARY. 

into  Huntington's  mind,  and  he  softly  repeated  these 
lines : 

Flow  down,  cold  rivulet,  to  the  sea, 

Thy  tribute  wave  deliver : 
No  more  by  thee  my  steps  shall  be, 

For  ever  and  for  ever. 

Flow,  softly  flow,  by  lawn  and  lea, 

A  rivulet,  then  a  river : 
Nowhere  by  thee  my  steps  shall  be, 

For  ever  and  for  ever. 

But  here  will  sigh  thine  alder  tree, 

And  here  thine  aspen  shiver  ; 
And  here  by  thee  will  hum  the  bee, 

For  ever  and  for  ever. 

A  thousand  suns  will  stream  on  thee, 

A  thousand  moons  will  quiver  : 
But  not  by  thee  my  steps  shall  be, 

For  ever  and  for  ever. 

It  was  a  sad,  happy  leave-taking.  Hand  in  hand, 
they  walked  away.  It  was  growing  cool  now ;  and 
William  Huntington  paused  to  put  Katie's  shawl  around 
her  shoulders ;  and  this  he  did  tenderly  and  lovingly ; 
but  no  more  tenderly  and  lovingly,  you  may  be  sure, 
than  he  will  fifty  years  hence,  should  they  journey 
together  in  life  so  long. 

As  they  drew  near  Mrs.  Anderson's,  they  heard 
again  the  voice  of  song.  It  would  seem  that  our 
prima  donna  had  gone  through  her  repertory,  and  was 
now  closing  the  matinee  with  the  same  exhilarating 
song  with  which  she  had  opened  the  entertainment  of 
the  morning.  Katie  and  William  quietly  entered  the 
house  and  opened  the  parlor  door,  which  had  been 
closed  so  that  the  noise  would  not  disturb  mother,  so 
James  afterwards  avowed  ;  and  upon  looking  in  the 
direction  of  the  piano,  saw  Bessie's  white,  shapely  fin 
gers  glancing  hither  and  thither  along  the  keys,  and 
James  bending  over  her  in  unmistakable  admiration. 
Katie  clapped  her  hands  gleefully,  for  she  was  in 
that  happy  state  of  mind  which  rendered  anything  like 
a  love  scene  especially  agreeable.  And  while  this  was 


ASSORTED    ACCORDING   TO    AFFINITY.  63! 

not  a  love  scene — for  surely  Bessie  wac  engaged  to  that 
brilliant  lawyer,  Paul  Hartman — yet  it  had  some  of  the 
characteristics  of  a  love  scene,  and  was  pro  tanto  enjoy 
able  to  Katie. 

"If  it  wasn't  for  Paul  Hartman,"  thought  Katie, 
"here  would  be  a  match  before  the  week  would 
be  out.  I  know  James  is  just  completely  captivated. 
He  always  did  like  your  blue-eyed,  golden-haired 
girls.  And  here  those  attractions  are  within  his 
reach,  and  in  perfection,  too.  I  do  n't  blame  brother. 
I  believe,  if  I  was  a  man,  I  v/ould  fall  in  love  with  her, 
sure.  And  what's  more,  I  believe  she  likes  James 
pretty  well ;  if  she  does  n't,  what  made  her  blush  so 
when  we  came  in  just  now  ?  You  can  't  fool  me,  you 
sly  little  miss  ;  I  've  been  through  the  dreadful  ordeal, 
and  I  know  all  the  signs.  But  ah  me  !  There  's  Mr. 
Hartman — good,  honest,  learned  and  brilliant.  Every 
body  says  so,  and  I  know  it  must  be  so.  And  he  saved 
my  dear  William."  At  this  point  in  Katie's  reflections 
she  looked  up  admiringly  at  her  lover.  ' '  Yes,  he 
did,  he  and  Elizabeth ;  yes,  and  poor  Mr.  Jimson.  I 
would  n't  do  anything  to  hurt  Mr.  Hartman,  but  I  do 
wish  he  would  let  James  have  Bessie.  Would  n't  a 
double  wedding  be  nice?  And  then  Mr.  Hartman 
might  find  some  one  else.  He  might — "  A  strange 
thought  entered  her  mind  which  almost  took  away  her 
breath.  "Oh,  my!"  she  said  to  herself,  "that  is 
worse  than  sacrilege.  Can  I  ever  get  forgiveness  for 
such  a  wicked  thought  ?  Elizabeth  get  married  !  How 
ridiculous !  There  is  n't  a  man  living  good  enough 
or  great  enough  for  her." 

Now  be  it  understood  that  during  the  period  of 
time  while  Katie  was  indulging  in  these  thoughts, 
the  other  three  individuals  in  that  room  were  not  pos 
ing  as  living  statues  waiting  for  Katie  to  get  through. 
Bessie  had  been  too  much  in  society  and  was  too  self- 
possessed  to  sink  back  in  a  tremor  as  if  she  had  been 
guilty  of  any  offense  in  playing  and  singing  for  James. 
This  was  but  courtesy  on  her  part.  Mr.  Hartman 


A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

could  not  reproach  her  for  endeavoring  to  make  herself 
agreeable  to  her  prospective  sister-in-law's  brother. 
He  had  too  much  good,  solid  sense  for  that.  Then 
James  would  not  dare  to  tease  her,  for  he  was  particeps 
criminis,  as  the  learned  Hartman  would  say.  ' '  And 
I'm  not  afraid  of  Katie,"  she  thought.  "Not  in  the 
least.  Katie  will  understand.  But  that  brother  of 
mine!  He  loves  Mr.  Hartman  better  than  he  loves 
himself,  or  anybody  else,  except  his  sweet-eyed  Katie  ; 
and  if  he  thinks  James  has  infringed  on  Mr.  Hartman's 
patent,  he  will  be  sore,  I  '11  be  bound.  He  won't  dare 
to  lecture  James,  for  he  is  Katie's  brother,  and  so  he  '11 
pounce  upon  poor  me.  Oh,  dear!  Olympus  defend!" 

While  these  thoughts  were  flying  through  Bessie's 
mind,  she  was  performing  all  sorts  of  pranks  with  the 
piano ;  and  then,  to  appease  her  brother,  glided  into  an 
appropriate  prelude  to  "  Katie  Darling,"  and  then  sang 
that  song  very  sweetly  and  touchingly. 

Meanwhile  James  had  retreated  a  pace  or  two,  and 
was  pulling  at  his  collar,  which  seemed  to  oppress  his 
neck.  William  Huntington  was  engaged  in  a  train 
of  reflections  very  similar  to  that  which  Bessie  was 
attributing  to  him.  "This  is  frightful,"  he  thought. 
"There  must  be  contagion  or  something  of  the  sort 
in  the  very  air  about  these  premises.  Bessie — -wicked 
little  wretch !  sweet  as  a  peach,  if  she  is  my  sister — 
has  completely  captured  this  poor  fellow.  He 's 
nearly  wild.  Look  at  him  !  Ah !  I  've  been  in  the 
same  predicament.  What  can  the  girl  mean  ?  She 
knows  she  is  engaged,  and  that,  too,  to  the  grandest 
man  living,  and  that  my  fortune  depends  upon  his 
friendship.  That 's  selfish,  I  admit ;  but  it 's  true.  If 
Bessie  should  be  false  to  my  friend  Hartman,  little 
chance  would  I  have  for  a  partnership  with  him  ;  then 
I  would  have  to  begin  at  the  bottom  somewhere,  and 
there  's  no  telling  when  Katie  and  I  could  be  married. 
Oh,  dear  !  I  can  never  stand  that !  And  then,  poor 
Hartman  !  how  he  would  suffer  if  he  only  knew  what 
was  going  on.  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  '11  do — I  '11  take 


ASSORtEO   ACCORDING   TO   AFFINITY.  633 

this  little  heart-smasher  home  with  me  to-morrow, 
and  insist  on  her  immediate  marriage.  Yes,  I  '11  see 
Hartman,  and  get  him  to  press  for  an  immediate  mar 
riage.  That's  what  I'll  do.  That'll  fix  you,  Miss 
Bessie.  I  '11  have  you  under  a  husband's  espionage 
at  once." 

The  singing  of  "Katie  Darling"  softened  Hunt- 
ington  to  some  extent,  however,  and  he  gave  no  inti 
mation  of  what  had  been  in  his  mind  till  that  evening 
after  supper,  when  he  found  himself  alone  with  Bessie. 
Then  he  said  rather  abruptly  : 

"Bessie,  I  hope  you  will  remember  that  you.  are 
engaged  to  Mr.  Hartman,  and  that  it  is  n't  becoming  to 
get  into  a  flirtation  with  any  one." 

"Why?"  asked  Bessie,  in  innocent  surprise,  open 
ing  her  pretty  blue  eyes  ever  so  wide. 

"Oh,  you  needn't  try  to  play  the  innocent  on  me," 
said  Huntington,  smiling  in  spite  of  himself. 

"In  what  way ? "  asked  Bessie. 

' '  You  know  well  enough,  miss,  what  I  'm  referring 
to.  You  '11  have  the  poor  fellow  dead  in  love  with  you, 
when  you  know  you  're  engaged  to  another." 

"James  knows  I  'm  engaged  to  Mr.  Hartman,  if  you 
refer  to  James.  If  he  gets  caught,  he  gets  caught  with 
his  eyes  open." 

' '  But  you  should  n't  try  to  catch  him.  It  is  wrong, " 
insisted  Huntington. 

"Well,  now,  brother  mine, . I  don't  know  whether 
I  '11  ever  marry  Mr.  Hartman  or  not.  He  is  a  fine  man, 
and  a  great  lawyer,  and  all  that,  and  we  're  engaged. 
But  you  know  so  many  things  might  happen — he  might 
die,  or  I  might  take  the  veil — and  then,  besides,  he  's 
nearly  old  enough  to  be  my  father!  Why  doesn't  he 
take  some  one  of  his  own  age?" 

"Why,  Bessie!"  exclaimed  Huntington  in  real 
surprise.  "I'm  shocked!  I  really  am!  What  would 
your  father  and  mother  say  ?  Why,  of  course  you  will 
marry  Mr.  Hartman !  To  break  off  your  engagement 
would  be  dishonorable,  and  would  ruin  my  prospects. " 


634  A   SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

"Now,  brother,  don't  you  know  I  love  you,  and 
think  you  are  the  dearest,  best  brother  in  the  world?" 

"Yes,  Bessie,  I  believe  you  do." 

' '  And  do  n't  you  know  I  love  papa  and  mamma,  and 
would  do  almost  anything  in  this  world  to  please  them  ?  " 

"Of  course  you  would,  Bessie." 

"Almost  anything,  brother;  anything  but  one, 
brother  William,  dear  brother  William."  And  Bessie 
put  her  soft,  white  arms  around  her  brother's  neck. 

"And  what  is  that? "asked  Huntington,  patting 
her  hand  as  it  lay  upon  his  cheek. 

"  I  propose  to  do  my  own  marrying,"  she  said  with 
firmness ;  and  Huntington  knew  Bessie  well  enough  to 
believe  that  further  importunity  would  be  unavailing. 

"But,  Bessie,"  he  finally  remonstrated,  "you  will 
break  Mr.  Hartman's  heart.  His  whole  heart  is  set 
on  you." 

"Break  fiddlesticks !'' exclaimed  Bessie,  removing 
her  arms  and  facing  her  brother.  "  He  would  rather  lose 
me  than  lose  a  law-suit  any  day.  If  his  heart  is  so 
brittle  as  that,  I  do  n't  want  the  care  of  it,  I  'm  sure. 
And  tell  me,  brother  William,  why  Mr.  Hartman  went 
and  spent  an  hour  with  that  old  maid  after  he  had  left 
me  last  Saturday !  And  was  there  so  long  that  he  had 
to  run  like  a  school-boy  to  catch  the  train !  Do  you 
reckon  if  you  had  been  going  away  you  would  have 
spent  your  last  hour  with  any  one  except  Katie?  No, 
you  wouldn't — you  know  you  wouldn't!"  Bessie's 
eyes  were  flashing.  Huntington  laughed. 

"  I  see!  "  he  cried,  feeling  slightly  encouraged.  "  I 
see  clearly !  A  manifest  case  of  jealousy  and  retalia 
tion." 

"Well,  no, "said  Bessie,  calming  herself,  "I'm  not 
mad  at  Mr.  Hartman.  But  I  do  n't  see  what  he  can  find 
to  fancy  about  that  old  maid  !  " 

"Tut,  tut,  sister!     You  mustn't  say  old  maid." 

"  She  is  an  old  maid — I  know  she  is.  I  counted  six 
gray  hairs  on  one  side  of  her  head  the  first  day  of 
the  trial." 


ASSORTED    ACCORDING   TO    AFFINITY.  63$ 

"That  was  fine  employment,  and  your  brother's 
neck  almost  in  the  halter !  But  you  should  not  call  her 
an  old  maid  even  if  she  is  one.  And  besides,  I  know 
you  're  just  talking  without  meaning  what  you  say. 
During  the  trial  you  called  Ifer  '  grand, '  and  '  sweet, ' 
'and  •'  lovely, '  and  'noble.'  You  exhausted  the  diction 
ary  in  her  praise.  Elizabeth  would  not  interfere  with 
your  marriage  with  Mr.  Hartman  for  anything  in  the 
world." 

"  Well,  you  know,  brother,  I  would  n't  care  so  much 
for  that  —  only  a  girl  doesn't  like  to  be  superseded, 
even  when  she  does  n't  want  to  marry  the  fellow  herself. 
Mr.  Hartman  ought  not  to  be  so  easily  consoled — he 
ought  to  pine  a  little,  just  for  the  looks  of  it,  if  for  no 
other  reason.  But  if  he  wants  her,  let  him  have  her, 
if  he  can  get  her.  What  do  I  care?  I  do  n't  think  / 
want  him.  •  I  tell  you  he  is  too  old  for  me.  I  believe 
I  can  suit  myself  better.  As  a  friend,  I  like  him  well 
enough.  As  a  husband,  I  fear  he  would  not  be  ac 
cording  to  my  tasles.  But  mark  you,  I  have  n't  said 
I  wouldn't  marry  Mr.  Hartman.  I  '11  take  him,  of 
course,  if  I  can  't  do  any  better." 

The  next  morning  William  Huntingdon  informed 
his  sister  that  she  must  return  home  with  him  instead 
of  visiting  in  Wellington  two  or  three  weeks  longer.  At 
first  she  demurred ;  but  when  she  found  that  her 
brother  was  in  earnest,  she  acquiesced  gracefully.  After 
.many  tears  and  sad  farewells,  the  brother  and  sister 
were  borne  away  on  the  evening  train  towards  the 
State  of  New  York. 

William  Huntington"  and  Katie  kept  up  a  regular 
correspondence,  writing  several  folios  to  each  other 
weekly.  He  was  now  at  Buffalo  with  his  partner  and 
friend,  Paul  Hartman,  busily  engaged  in  the  practice  of 
law,  and  eagerly  looking  forward  to  the  day  when  he 
would  have  a  home  of  his  own,  and  the  sweetest  of  wives 
to  bless  it.  He  had  ascertained,  on  his  visit  to  his  old 
home  at  Jamestown,  that  Bessie  was  in  correspondence 
with  James  Anderson,  and  had  become  greatly  con- 


A    StJBTLE    ADVERSARY'. 

cerned  over  the  turn  affairs  were  taking,  ye  ventured 
to  speak  to  Dr.  Lowell  on  the  subject,  but  the  Doctor 
laughed  unconcernedly  and  said  : 

' '  Well,  what  is  the  matter  with  James  Anderson  ? 
What 's  wrong  about  him  ?  Good  family,  is  n't  it  ?  If 
not,  you  should  n't  marry  his  sister.  If  Bessie  prefers 
Anderson  to  Hartman,  I  haven't  a  word  to  say.  I 
have  frequently  told  her  that,  within  certain  limits,  she 
should  do  her  own  marrying.  I  mean  that  I  would  n't 
suffer  her  to  marry  an  unworthy  man  ;  but,  with  that 
exception,  she  must  make  her  own  choice.  She  will 
have  to  live  with  the  man.  And  let  me  tell  you,  Bessie 
makes  few  mistakes,  and  I  '11  trust  her  good  sense  in 
choosing  a  husband.  Anderson  's  going  to  be  a  doctor, 
and  that's  a  point  in  his  favor.  If  the  two  take  a 
fancy  for  each  other,  well  enough !  let  them  marry. 
I  'm  getting  along  in  years,  and  would  like  to  have  an 
active  young  man  of  my  own  profession  for  a  son-in- 
law.  I  could  work  him  into  the  practice  and  help  him 
in  this  way,  and  keep  the  practice  in  the  family  after 
I  'm  dead  and  gone.  Dr.  Harmon  says  the  young  man 
is  bound  to  make  a  fine  physician.  Let  Bessie  have 
him  if  she  wants  him,  and  God  bless  the  dear  girl!" 
Dr.  Lowell  considered  it  an  established  fact  that  there 
was  n't  a  man  on  the  American  continent  who  would  n't 
be  glad  to  marry  Bessie. 

William  Huntington  undertook  to  suggest  some 
thing  about  his  mother's  views,  when  the  Doctor  inter 
rupted  him  by  saying : 

"Your  mother's  views!  Why,  William,  your 
mother's  views  are  mine,  and  mine  are  hers.  It  was 
from  your  mother  I  learned  that  some  sort  of  an  at 
tachment  was  springing  up  between  Bessie  and 
young  Anderson.  She  found  out  that  they  were 
corresponding — got  hold  of  some  of  their  letters,  and 
read  them.  She  says  their  letters  wax  more  tender 
right  along.  They  have  exchanged  pictures,  and  so 
forth.  Bessie  told  your  mother  the  other  day  that  she 
was  going  to  return  Mr.  Hartman 's  letters  and  send 


ASSORTED    ACCORDING   TO    AFFINITY.  637 

back  her  engagement  ring.  What  can  you  do  in  such 
a  case  ?  Let  her  send  them — that 's  all.  She  is  of  age. 
If  she  does  n't  want  to  marry  Hartman,  bless  her  sweet 
heart !  her  old  father  will  make  no  fuss  about  it.  What 
has  a  girl  of  her  age  in  common  with  a  man  twelve  or 
fourteen  years  her  senior  ?  Such  marriages  are  some 
times  happy,  but  they're  not  natural  —  they're  not 
natural." 

"Yours  seems  to  have  been  a  success, "  ventured 
Huntington,  slyly. 

"The  exception  proves  the  rule,"  said  the  Doctor, 
and  with  that  statement  the  conversation  closed. 

The  next  morning,  in  one  of  the  private  rooms  of 
their  office,  Paul  Hartman  and  William  Huntington  had 
a  private  interview,  in  which  the  latter  informed  the 
former  of  Miss  Bessie  Lowell's  fickleness.  Thereupon 
Mr.  Hartman,  to  his  friend's  surprise,  instead  of  raving 
frantically  or  blowing  out  his  brain?  with  a  revolver, 
warmly  grasped  his  informant  by  the  hand,  and  said  that 
Bessie  was  right — that  he  was  undoubtedly  too  old  a 
man  for  her  —  that  his  tastes  were  formed  and  his 
habits  fixed,  and  that  he  himself  had  of  late  enter 
tained  serious  misgivings  as  to  the  advisability  of  the 
marriage. 

A  few  days  afterwards,  Paul  Hartman  received  a 
bundle  of  letters  and  an  engagement  ring  from  Miss  Bes 
sie  Lowell,  accompanied  with  a  little  missive  requesting 
him  to  release  her  from  their  engagement,  and  prom 
ising  ever  to  regard  him  as  a  friend.  By  return  mail 
Bessie  received  a  package  of  delicate  love-messages, 
which  she  had  from  time  to  time  indited  to  Mr.  Hart 
man,  together  with  a  letter  from  that  gentleman  stating 
that  he  was  in  honor  bound  to  grant  her  request,  and 
that  he  would  remain  till  death  her  sincere  and  devoted 
friend.  And  now  what  happened  next? 

The  following  week  Mr.  Hartman  informed  his  part 
ner  that  he  had  private  business. of  pressing  importance 
in  a  distant  city,  and  must  have  leave  of  absence  from 
the  office  for  a  few  days.  Inside  of  a  week  he  was  in 


638  A  SUBTLE  ADVERSARY. 

the  office  again.  He  seemed  to  have  undergone  a 
change.  He  would  work  at  his  desk  for  a  few  minutes, 
and  then  lay  down  his  pen  and  sit  like  a  dreamer  or  a 
poet,  with  a  wistful,  far-away  look  in  his  eyes.  Open 
ing  Mr.  Hartman's  desk  one  day  to  get  some  papers, 
Huntington  was  surprised  to  see  a  picture  of  Elizabeth 
Oakford  there.  Several  times  letters  were  brought  in 
by  the  mail-carrier,  addressed  to  Mr.  Hart  man  in  the 
hand-writing  of  Elizabeth  Oakford,  and  postmarked 
Wellington,  Illinois.  All  this  was  exceedingly  myste 
rious.  But  the  mystery  was  explained  one  day  when 
Mr.  Hartman  called  Mr.  Huntington  into  his  private 
office  and  said  : 

"  William,  if  it's  a  fair  question,  when  are  you  go 
ing  to  be  married  ?  " 

The  gentleman  addressed  named  the  day.  ' '  But 
you  must  not  tell  anybody,"  he  added.  "  And  I  '11  tell 
you  another  secret  —  Bessie  will  be  married  at  the 
same  time." 

"To  James  Anderson,  of  course,"  said  Mr. 'Hart- 
man.  "God  bless  them!  Will  you  be  married  at 
Jamestown  or  Wellington?" 

"  We  have  n't  settled  that  question  yet." 

"  How  would  you  like  to  add  another  couple,  and 
make  a  triple  affair  of  it?" 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Hartman?'' 

"I  expect  to  be  married  about  that  time  myself." 

"You  !  Gracious  !  Bless  my  soul !  Who  are  you 
going  to  marry  ?  " 

"Can't  you  guess?  Mr.  Huntington,  I'm  going 
to  marry  the  dearest,  sweetest,  loveliest  woman  in  all 
this  world." 

"You  are  not  going  to  marry  my  Katie  !  "  said  Mr. 
Huntington  belligerently. 

"And  that  woman,"  continued  Mr.  Hartman,  as  if 
he  had  not  been  interrupted,  "that  woman,  Mr  Hunt 
ington,  is  Elizabeth  Oakford." 

"Well!  well!"  exclaimed  William  Huntington, 
staring  at  his  friend  with  a  look  of  damning  intelli- 


ASSORTED    ACCORDING    TO    AFFINITY.  639 

gence.  "Dear  me!  I  see  it  all  now — that  picture — 
those  letters — that  trip — ah  !  how  blind  I  have  been  !  " 
The  two  friends  grasped  each  other's  hand  and  be 
gan  to  shake  with  great  enthusiasm,  and  were  still  en 
gaged  in  this  delightful  exercise  when  an  astonished 
client  entered  the  room. 

Yes,  it  is  a  great  day  in  the  history  of  Wellington. 
Three  notable  weddings  at  the  same  time  and  in  the 
same  house !  For  where  else  can  this  triple  wedding 
be  so  fittingly  celebrated?  Two  of  the  brides  live  at 
Wellington,  and  that  has  been  the  theater  of  the  court 
ship  of  two  of  the  couples,  and  of  the  third,  in  fact, 
except  so  far  as  the  attachment  begun  there  has  been 
consummated  by  mail. 

And  new  the  day  has  come,  and  three  expectant 
brides  are  in  a  flutter  of  excitement.  Mrs.  Anderson's 
home  is  once  more  a  place  of  rejoicing.  Many  of  her 
friends  and  neighbors  are  here  to  participate  in  the 
pleasures  of  the  occasion.  A  hush  falls  upon  the  com 
pany  as  the  clock  indicates  the  hour  for  the  ceremony. 
Ah !  here  they  come  at  last — Katie,  sweeter  and  love 
lier  than  ever  before  ;  Bessie,  fair  as  the  golden  sun 
shine.  Nor  is  the  other  bride  less  attractive.  Yes, 
Bessie  was  right.  There  are  a  few  gray  hairs  on  her 
head,  and  she  is  thirty-three  years  of  age.  Her  hair  is 
neither  the  soft,  dark  brown  of  Katie's,  nor  the  gold  of 
Bessie's,  nor  are  her  cheeks  quite  as  fresh  as  those  of 
the  younger  brides.  Her  dress  is  more  simple  and 
subdued.  But  Elizabeth,  gentle  as  an  angel,  yet  bold 
enough  for  martyrdom ;  Elizabeth,  noble  heroine  in  a 
hundred  battles  for  the  right,  can  yield  the  palm  of  a 
fresher  beauty  to  her  sister  brides,  and  yet  lose  nothing 
in  the  comparison  with  either  of  them.  At  least  so 
thinks  Paul  Hartman,  as  he  looks  at  her  fondly  and 
proudly. 

The  words  are  spoken ;  the  solemn  vows  are  made. 
The  old  home  is  completely  broken  up.  James  and 
Bessie  are  to  live  with  Dr.  Lowell  at  Jamestown.  Mrs. 


640  A    SUBTLE   ADVERSARY. 

Anderson  is  to  live  with  Katie  at  Buffalo.  All  is  well. 
Congratulations  are  uttered.  The  future  is  bright  with 
the  promise  of  happiness  and  love. 

What  a  crowd  at  the  railway  station !  It  seems  as 
if  every  man,  woman  and  child  in  the  city  and  surround 
ing  country  is  there.  Many  tears  are  shed,  and  many 
farewells  are  spoken.  At  length,  James  Anderson  and 
William  Huntington  and  their  brides  succeed  in  freeing 
themselves  from  their  friends  and  entering  the  car. 
The  bell  is  ringing,  and  the  conductor  is  shouting,  ' '  All 
aboard !  " 

But  Mrs.  Hartman  is  surrounded,  and  can  not  reach 
the  train.  "  Good-bye,  Miss  Oakford  !  "  "  Good-bye, 
Miss  Oakford  !  "  cry  the  children,  not  yet  accustomed 
to  the  new  name.  Sobs  are  heard  from  every  direction. 
Old  Squire  Ingleside  rubs  his  fist  into  his  eye,  and  mut 
ters  something  about  the  late  distinguished  Senator. 
Mrs.  Jennie  Spence  presses  her  way  through  the  throng 
and  holds  up  little  Douglas  Ingleside  Spence  for  Eliza 
beth  to  kiss.  An  old  woman,  neatly  dressed,  who  is 
to  take  Elizabeth's  room  at  the  boarding-house,  and 
never  to  know  want  again  in  this  life,  falls  upon  her 
benefactor's  neck,  and  blesses  her  with  all  the  tender 
ness  of  a  grateful  heart. 

The  conductor  cries  out  again,  "All  aboard!"  He 
understands  the  situation,  and  is  as  indulgent  as  possi 
ble.  Finally  Elizabeth  and  her  husband  enter  the  car. 
The  conductor  gives  the  signal  for  departure.  The  en 
gine  puffs,  and  the  train  moves,  and  a  shower  of  roses 
from  a  hundred  hands  almost  smothers  the  car.  Eliza 
beth  stands  on  the  rear  platform  and  waves  her  hand 
kerchief.  A  universal  benediction  goes  up  from  the 
throng  for  them  all ;  but  for  the  brave  and  gentle  Eliza 
beth  there  is  a  blessing  on  every  lip  and  a  tear  in  every 
eye.  The  train  bends  around  the  curve,  and  is  seen  no 
more. 

Farewell,  all  of  our  friends  !  God  bless  them  all ; 
and  God  bless  the  cause  of  the  right  for  which  they 
have  toiled,  and  suffered,  and  prayed, 


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